


welcome to the new age

by nightswatch



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:15:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 58,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightswatch/pseuds/nightswatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire stumbles across an unlikely group of fighters as he tries to escape a country that is overrun with zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to point out that this is about a zombie apocalypse, so this fic will feature a lot of blood and killing.

To say that Grantaire wasn’t on top of his game would have been a bit of an understatement.

Grantaire was exhausted, had slept for about ten hours during the last three days, if at all, had eaten only an apple and two granola bars and hadn’t touched a single drop of alcohol. The latter probably worked in his advantage, although he’d wished for something stronger than the water he was carrying around every single minute of every single day.

There was no way he could keep going like this. He needed to sleep for at least a day to feel somewhat human again – honestly he was starting to think that maybe he’d turned into one of _them_ at some point and just hadn’t noticed – anyway, there was nowhere he was safe, he needed someone to keep watch, otherwise he’d end up as some zombie’s breakfast. Or multiple zombies’ breakfast. Either way, the outcome wasn’t desirable.

So he’d made sure he only slept during the day, in places no one would find him, that were hard to reach, or in rooms that he could lock. But that was a hard thing to do, especially if he didn’t want to stay in the same place for too long.

He’d teamed up with a guy, Grantaire hadn’t even known his name, but he’d trusted him to safely get him through the night, just like the guy had trusted him with the same task.

Grantaire had been contemplating leaving Paris for a long time, because the city wasn’t a good place to be, then again, these days, _nowhere_ was a good place to be. Slowly but surely everything had been cut off – there’d been no water, no electricity. Grantaire had realized that he needed to come up with a plan.

He’d gone on a supply run, armed with his biggest kitchen knife, as if that would have done any good had he actually been forced to use it, then he’d packed up some clothes, an empty sketchbook, and he’d made sure his motorbike was ready to go.

And he’d watched them.

The zombies – or whatever they were, because, really, Grantaire just liked to refer to them as zombies, because that was certainly what they looked like – had habits, too, like humans, maybe because initially they had been humans after all. They preferred darkness to light, had a predilection for human flesh, and died just like normal people died.

It seemed that bites didn’t turn humans immediately, it took a while, it was painful, but in the end, no matter how long it took, they all turned. Unless they got eaten.

The last thing he’d needed to get a hold of was a weapon, or preferably several weapons. His kitchen knife would only get him so far. Maybe around the block and then into an early grave. He’d stolen a gun from a dead guy, then he’d stolen a rapier from a museum. It was quite pretty and at least he made use of it. It wasn’t like anyone would come to marvel at its beauty. And he was fairly sure that no one would miss it either. He’d taken a dagger, too, had made sure both were sharp and then he’d said his goodbyes to the city he’d called home for half his life.

He’d gone as far as he could on his motorbike and it had pained him to leave it behind, but fuel was scarce and most of the cars that had been left behind were burnt out or they’d been left behind for the same reason that Grantaire had to abandon his bike.

He had continued on foot until a car had pulled up next to him and a middle aged guy had offered him a ride. “I’ll take you as far as you need to go, if you don’t ask me questions, I won’t ask you questions,” he’d said and so they’d journeyed on.

Grantaire had kept his mouth shut, glad that he wasn’t on his own anymore.

They hadn’t got very far, of course, Grantaire really wasn’t that lucky. They’d stopped at a petrol station, which had been completely devoid of petrol or anything else remotely useful and had been ambushed by a crowd of drooling dead people covered in blood. For dead guys they really were dreadfully fast.

Grantaire had got away, clutching his backpack and his rapier, not because he was a fast runner, but because he was strong – that just happened after years of boxing and dancing and fencing. He’d climbed a tree and had hidden out there until the coast had been clear.

He’d thought about going back for the car, to go as far as he could with whatever petrol there was left, but had ultimately decided against it. Again, he’d continued on foot, walking towards the setting sun.

On the radio they’d said that after the first outbreak all borders had been closed. Spain was lost, that much he knew, some had got away on boats, but Grantaire wasn’t counting on any being left anywhere, so as far as he was concerned east was the only way to go. If he made it to Germany, he’d be fine. He’d learn to deal with the sauerkraut and the lederhosen for the sake of a good night’s sleep.

Right now, however, it didn’t look like he’d make it that far.

He was perched on top of another tree, had been for hours, watching a deserted-looking farmhouse. He’d kept an eye on the stables, too, hoping he’d find means of transportation that didn’t need petrol. A bike maybe, or something faster. Hopefully a horse. He wasn’t sure if you could ride on cows, but he sure as hell wouldn’t try. He wasn’t that desperate. Not yet, at least.

Waiting for dawn, he’d had a lot of time to think. Obviously it would be a good idea to find someone to travel with again, it would be a good idea to find some more supplies, too, because he’d left most of his in the car and was currently in possession of an apple and another four granola bars, and had no idea when or where he’d find something to eat next. He could raid the farmhouse, but if he did find a horse, he wanted to get out of here as fast as he possibly could.

He slowly lowered himself back on the ground when the sun started rising, slowly making his way over to the stables, hoping he’d remain unseen, his hand on the hilt of his rapier. He’d promised himself to only use the gun in an emergency, because he didn’t have a whole lot of ammunition and didn’t want to waste it on something he could manage with a blade. He also didn’t have a clue how guns actually worked, but he’d figure it out. Or so he told himself.

He really wasn’t too good at this whole survival business.

But apparently he wasn’t entirely out of luck, because he made it to the stables without an incident, inside however he encountered to very pissed off not-dead-but-somehow-still-alive people, quite possibly the farmer and his wife, who came charging at him, not with the low growls you got to hear in every zombie movie ever made, but with screeches that made Grantaire’s blood run cold.

He slit the farmer’s throat in one swift motion with his dagger, but was nearly overpowered by the farmer’s wife, who threw herself on top of Grantaire, clawing at his skin, trying to bite, trying to kill. Now, Grantaire wasn’t a violent person, except for the occasional pub brawl here and there, but he would have never ever seen himself killing anything or anyone. Not in a billion years.

This wasn’t easy, he was killing people, or the bodies of what formerly had been people, and he didn’t do it lightly, but in a way this was self-defence. As much as he’d wanted to die on many occasions in his life, now he desperately wanted to live.

He fought off the women, dripping foul-smelling blood all over him when his blade finally pierced through her.

Grantaire was breathing heavily as he struggled to his feet again, wiping away the blood as best as he could, hoping he’d come across a lake or a stream soon, so he could wash it all off. He leaned against a wooden pillar, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to somehow force his hands to stop trembling, trying not to fall apart.

He couldn’t give up, not now, not when he’d already made it this far.

He staggered onwards and moved on to the next stable, which he found completely empty. He wanted to curl up on the floor. Wait until they found him, because they surely would.

It was hopeless, all of it. He was going to die.

Grantaire sighed, but it came out sounding strangely like a sob, and forced himself to go on. He didn’t bother checking the house. He couldn’t fight off another one even if he wanted to. He just walked on and on, along the edge of a forest, hidden in the shadow of the trees, and came across another farm. He was honest to God starting to think he was hallucinating, when he found two horses grazing on the field behind it.

There was no farmer left here, no one to stop him from taking one of the horses by its halter and leading it away to get a saddle.

“What’s your name, huh?” Grantaire asked, fingers combing through its mane, trying to figure out how to get the saddle he’d found on the horse. “You know,” he continued, “I’ll just call you Pony until I come up with something better. I think we’re going to be good friends. Mainly because you can’t complain about me talking too much.”

When Grantaire was on his way again, after having struggled with actually getting onto the horse for an embarrassingly long time, the sun was high up in the air, but was soon obscured by swiftly gathering clouds. Grantaire was starting to think that maybe he should have taken shelter for a while before he set out again, because there was definitely a storm brewing.

The first raindrop landed on his nose half an hour later, then another one hit him on the cheek, and he was completely soaked within minutes. He wasted a thought on his sketchbook, knowing that it probably wouldn’t survive. Not that he thought he’d ever have time to draw again. Or the energy to hold a pen.

It would be nice to just close his eyes, only for a second, to rest for a bit. He bit his lip, hard, drawing blood, to keep himself awake. It worked, but only for a while.

The rain had let off when he finally stopped a little way into a forest. He found a little stream and led Pony over there to get him some water, just now realising that he’d also need to get him something to eat, pretty certain that he wouldn’t be happy with one of the granola bars Grantaire was hoarding. He sighed, knowing he’d have to deal with that at some point – preferably soon.

He’d just unwrapped one of the granola bars for himself, when he heard a loud cry. And it sounded suspiciously like someone who was still alive.

Grantaire heaved himself back onto his horse, which went a lot better than the last time. Still, he could feel each and every one of his muscles protesting. He could hear more yelling, and screeching, inhuman sounds, and his first instinct was to run, because right now he was riding straight towards his imminent death.

He soon reached a meadow, and in the middle of it was a boy, dressed all in black, his face and his blond hair stained with blood, a small dagger in his hand, slashing at the five zombies surrounding him. Grantaire immediately realised that the boy’s dagger would do no good, maybe if he were face to face with one of them, but not when there were five.

Grantaire didn’t dare reach for his gun, not when his aim was probably off by miles and there was someone he didn’t want to hit right in the middle of this. He drew his rapier instead, jumped off his horse and started running towards them.

The boy stared at him with wide eyes for a few seconds, before he, too, sprang into action and tackled one of the zombies to the ground, while Grantaire distracted the others. He had a few seconds time to regret not taking an actual longsword before he drew his dagger. He didn’t pay any attention to the boy until he heard him cry out again and Grantaire spun around to check on him.

The last zombie had got a hold of the boy and had thrown him to the ground, where he was now struggling to reach for something next to him in the grass. Grantaire didn’t waste any time, ran over, yanked the zombie off of him and made quick work of getting rid of it.

“Thank you,” the boy mumbled, looking up at him from where he was still lying in the grass. Blond locks splayed out beneath him, and God, no one should look this attractive when they were covered in blood, but this angelic creature pulled it off quite well.

“No problem,” Grantaire mumbled and held out his hand. “Nice to meet another human being.”

The boy grabbed his hand and let Grantaire pull him to his feet. “They’re human beings, too, you know? They’re just-”

“Undead?” Grantaire finished lamely.

“Not exactly,” the boy said, frowning at him. “Anyway,” he added, “I’m...” He took a deep breath, fumbled with his jacket and winced.

“Are you alright?” Grantaire asked warily. “Did one of them bite you?”

He hoped that the answer would be no, because there was no help for him otherwise.

“No,” he said immediately, “I just fell... I think I might have cracked a rib or something, don’t worry. I just feel a bit dizzy, maybe I hit my head, too.”

“Maybe you should...” Grantaire started and only barely managed to catch the boy before he passed out. “Sit down,” he finished and eased them both onto the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I had this idea.  
> (I'm honestly not sure if I'm going to continue this, I guess I'll just wait and see what people think about it.)


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire looked down at the boy in his arms, at the freckles dotting his cheeks and his nose, at the smudges of dirt and blood, the cut on his forehead. His chapped lips were parted, his eyelashes were fluttering ever so slightly and Grantaire was hoping he’d wake up soon, because they couldn’t stay here.

There were still in the meadow, surrounded by bodies of people who’d already been dead, soaking the grass around them with blood.

Grantaire felt sick, he felt like having a drink, he felt like lying down and staying here and just giving up. If there were others around they would find them, they could smell the blood, he was sure, and they’d be here soon.

They needed to get out of here.

Grantaire slowly brushed away blond curls. “Wake up,” he whispered, “please, please, please, wake up.”

He could try to carry him, but they wouldn’t get far like that. He had trouble getting himself onto a horse, leave alone other people.

“Please, wake up, we need to leave.” He patted his cheek, kept whispering to him, but the boy didn’t stir.

Grantaire didn’t even know his name. He could hardly call him ridiculously hot guy, hell, maybe he had a corpse on his hands, now was _definitely_ not the time for thoughts like that.  

“Hey,” Grantaire tried again and shook him a little. A raindrop landed on his nose. He hadn’t even realised that more clouds had started to gather, but when he looked up all he could see was a grey sky beyond the rustling green leaves.

The boy’s eyelids fluttered again, then blue eyes were staring up at him, more confused than scared. “What...” He moved to sit up, but Grantaire kept him in place.

“Easy,” he mumbled, “Do you remember what happened?”

“I do, I just... did I pass out?”

“Yes, quite gracefully so,” Grantaire told him. “Now, first things first. What’s your name?”

The boy frowned. “Enjolras. Who are you?”

“I’m Grantaire. Pleased to meet you,” he said quietly. “Can you get up?”

Enjolras nodded. “I need to find my friends.”

“Okay, let’s get out here first.” Grantaire hadn’t seen anyone else around, so unless they’d hidden from him, finding this guy’s friends wouldn’t be a piece of cake.

Raindrops kept drizzling down on them steadily as Grantaire pulled Enjolras to his feet and led him back into the forest. Pony was exactly where Grantaire had left him and Enjolras nodded approvingly when they approached.

“Do you mind giving me a ride?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire noticed that he still wasn’t quite steady on his feet.

“Where do you need to go?” Grantaire took the reins and led him away further away from the meadow. Enjolras followed. “I mean, what the hell even happened to you?”

“My friends and I spent the night in an abandoned farmhouse,” Enjolras told him. “I set out this morning to check the surroundings and-”

“You went all by yourself?”

Enjolras huffed angrily. “You’re travelling all by yourself, too.”

“Not by choice.” Grantaire wouldn’t go anywhere on his own if he didn’t have to. It wasn’t safe, he’d learnt that much, and anyway, he liked having company. It made him feel less like he was the last person on earth.

“Anyway, I got... ambushed,” Enjolras continued, “I tried to run away, then I fell, and I lost my gun, well, and then you found me. Thank you for saving me, by the way. Not everyone would have done that.”

Grantaire only nodded. Most people would have run away in the opposite direction as fast as they could. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t. “So, let me guess, you want me to take you back to your friends,” Grantaire mused.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Sure, let’s, um...” Grantaire made a futile attempt at getting onto Pony. “I haven’t really got the hang of this yet.”

“Let me,” Enjolras mumbled and took the reins from him.

It became clear to Grantaire very quickly that Enjolras knew how to ride. He swung himself onto the horse without much fuss, only winced a little when he did, and held out his hand to Grantaire so he could join him. Grantaire struggled quite a bit, but he eventually managed to pull himself up as well.

“You need to hold on,” Enjolras told him. “I don’t want you to fall off.”

Grantaire actually was surprised that he hadn’t already. “Right,” he muttered and wrapped his arms around Enjolras’ waist, but only very lightly. If Enjolras had really cracked a rib, Grantaire didn’t want to make it even more painful for him.

“So, what’s your story?” Enjolras asked as he effortlessly navigated Pony through the forest.

“I was in Paris when it all started. Realised I had to get out of there, travelled with some guy in his car for a while, he got eaten, I got away, stole a horse and here I am,” Grantaire replied quickly. “Anyway, I was trying to go east.”

“I see,” Enjolras said. Grantaire could hardly hear him. They’d reached the edge of the forest and the trees were thinning out, offering no shelter from the wind.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave the forest?” Grantaire asked. “The weather seems pretty nasty.”

“I need to find my friends,” Enjolras answered resolutely.

Grantaire didn’t reply, only held on to Enjolras when they left the forest and the wind and the rain hit them with all their force. Enjolras pulled the hood of his black jacket over his head as they sped up a little and Grantaire ended up with his face pressed against Enjolras’ back.

He was well aware that this guy was a stranger, but this was pretty much the end of the world as far as he was concerned and in that moment he just couldn’t care less. Anyway, Enjolras kept going on and didn’t complain about Grantaire clinging to him.

The fabric of Enjolras’ jacket was soft and even though the rain was still beating down on them relentlessly, Grantaire could feel himself grow tired, all the sleepless nights finally taking their toll, and by the time they finally came to a halt Grantaire was half-asleep.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras turned and nudged him. “Do me a favour and open the barn door.”

Grantaire’s head snapped up and realised that they’d reached a farm. Enjolras had stopped at the barn, though, the house itself was well-removed and looked deserted.

Grantaire lowered himself to the ground, his legs aching with every step he took and opened the door, so Enjolras could ride inside. “Are your friends here?” Grantaire asked him.

Enjolras shook his head and turned to take care of Pony. “I’ve never been here before, but the rain was getting worse and you were shivering and I thought it might be for the best if we took shelter.”

“Good thinking,” Grantaire mumbled. Enjolras didn’t look too well either and Grantaire was starting to worry that he might have already pushed himself too far. It was strange that he cared so much about a person he knew next to nothing about, usually he’d only ever been fond of other’s people’s company when he’d been dead drunk, otherwise he’d always considered being around others almost unbearable, quite frankly, he himself was unbearable, so he’d always figured the feeling was mutual.

But things had changed. Having allies, having friends, was vital in times like these.

Grantaire sighed and tugged at his clothes. He was completely soaked through, so was his backpack, and he would have loved to be back in Paris in his ratty flat, where he’d only had a mattress on the floor to sleep on, but that was still better than spending the night in a barn with no dry clothes and nothing to eat. Unless... “You know what, I’m going to run over to the house and check if there’s some food and maybe some water.” Maybe a blanket, too. Or some wine or whiskey.

Enjolras nodded. “See if there’s a well, we should get some water for... what’s his name, anyway?”

“Pony,” Grantaire said, feeling stupid. The glance Enjolras shot him didn’t make it better. “I was in a hurry and I couldn’t think of anything better, stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Enjolras asked innocently, but obviously didn’t expect an answer. “Be careful out there,” he added seriously.

Grantaire drew his rapier, ignoring the amused smile on Enjolras’ face. He took one of the buckets next to the door, then he stepped outside.

The rain was still pouring down, but Grantaire hardly cared anymore. He found a well not too far from the barn, filled his bucket with water, took it back to Enjolras, then he set out again, this time running towards the house, through puddles and dirt.

It seemed that whoever had lived here hadn’t left in a hurry, or maybe someone else had come in here for supplies. He found himself a bag and started filling it with everything that might turn out useful.

There wasn’t much – only a few lighters and candles, a long rope, three bottles of water, and two bags of crisps, which was the only thing that was remotely edible in the kitchen. He did find a blanket, too, and some dry clothes. His search for a flashlight and batteries was in vain. There was nothing left.

When he raided the bathroom for a first aid kit, which he found dusty and forgotten at the back of the sink cabinet, he also took the chance to make use of a proper toilet for once. Zombie films never mentioned this, but some things really were quite inconvenient when you were on the run and wandering around in the woods.

To be honest, there were a lot of things that zombie films never mentioned.

When he returned to the barn, it was strangely dark outside, and maybe Grantaire had lost track of time completely, but he was certain that it couldn’t be evening yet.

Enjolras had hung up his jacket to dry, the last smudges of dirt on his face had disappeared and he was inspecting the small barn.

 “Did you find any dead people?” Grantaire asked and set down his gatherings. “Or undead people?”

“No, nothing.” Enjolras sighed and sat down on the floor. “I found some food for Pony.”

“Great, thank you. I didn’t find much in the house actually,” Grantaire muttered as he started stripping off his wet hoodie and shirt. He pulled on some of the clothes he’d found inside the farm, and handed some of them to Enjolras, who took them, but didn’t move to put them on. Grantaire sat down next to him. “How are you?”

“My head hurts,” Enjolras mumbled, “actually, my whole body hurts, and I’m tired, but I need to find Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

“Your friends?” Grantaire asked.

“Yeah,” Enjolras confirmed. “They’re probably looking for me. Or they think I’m dead. I don’t know. Anyway, there’s no way we can go anywhere in this weather and once the storm’s over it’ll be too dark to see. I have no idea where we even are, I have no idea how to find them, if they left the farm we stayed at, they could be _anywhere_.” He closed his eyes, pulled up his feet and let his head rest against his knees. He looked defeated.

And Grantaire didn’t want him to, because the guy he’d encountered in that meadow only a few hours earlier was a fighter, and somehow Grantaire didn’t think he could take it if he would just give up now. He needed someone else to believe that they’d make it out of this alive, because he couldn’t. “It’ll be okay,” Grantaire whispered and put his hand on Enjolras’ back, rubbing small circles. “I’ll help you find them, I promise.”

Enjolras drew in a shaky breath. “Thanks.”

Grantaire knew there was no way in hell they’d find Enjolras’ friends. Not if they’d moved on. Either way, they’d be stuck with each other for a while.

“Let’s just... let’s make sure those doors stay closed and sleep for a bit, because, quite honestly, I don’t even remember the last time I slept properly. And you should let me take a look at that cut on your forehead.”

Enjolras wordlessly got up and started barricading the door, and there was no hint of how desperate and sad he’d looked mere seconds ago, he was determined again, like he’d been before. “Maybe we should climb up to the hayloft and sleep there,” Enjolras said, his voice low, “There’s a ladder over there.”

Grantaire went to get the ladder, leaving Enjolras to his work. He was a little worried about Pony, but it looked like Enjolras was making quite sure that no one would be getting into the barn.

Grantaire silently gathered his belongings and climbed up the ladder to the hayloft.

It was a good enough place to sleep. Honestly, even a concrete floor would be good enough for him right about now. He just wished he’d found a dry pair of jeans, because his own were still uncomfortably wet.

Grantaire kicked off his shoes, which was probably a bad idea because if they really had to run, he’d have to do so without his shoes on, but right now he just really didn’t give a shit. He pulled off his wet socks and grabbed one of the pairs he’d stolen from the house, sighing happily.

Then he took the blanket and made himself comfortable in a pile of straw, waiting until Enjolras had also climbed up, now wearing the red hoodie Grantaire had brought for him. “Pull up the ladder,” Grantaire said to him. He wouldn’t sleep easy, he knew that much already, but maybe it would help.

Enjolras did as Grantaire had told him, then he joined him, watching in silence as Grantaire fetched the first aid kit. Enjolras did his best not to wince when Grantaire starting cleaning the cuts on his face. “What about your ribs?”

Enjolras slowly lifted his hoodie and revealed several bruises. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Are you sure?” Grantaire asked, tentatively reaching out to brush over one of the bruises. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s bearable,” Enjolras answered earnestly. “Really.” He tugged the hoodie back into place, his eyes never leaving Grantaire’s. “Are _you_ okay?”

Grantaire nodded. “Just tired.”

“Let’s get some rest,” Enjolras said. “Or I can keep watch.”

“No, it’s alright.” Grantaire let himself fall back onto the straw and grabbed the blanket.

Enjolras joined him with a sigh. “Only one blanket?”

“You can go get your own,” Grantaire grumbled, quite happy when Enjolras ignored him and slipped under the blanket with him.

Grantaire looked at him, stared at him, more like, and Enjolras was staring right back at him. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t able to look away. Enjolras certainly was beautiful, but it wasn’t that, it was that he was a living and breathing human being, right here next to him, close enough to hold. Grantaire ignored the urge to reach out and pull Enjolras closer.

“Are you scared?” Enjolras whispered. His eyes were wide, sincere.

It was getting dark in the barn, he was well and truly exhausted and Enjolras didn’t seem to be faring any better, and he really wasn’t in the mood for talking about his feelings right now. “I’m tired,” he muttered, “and yes, of course I’m scared, I nearly died about ten times in the last 24 hours alone, and I really don’t want to do this anymore.” Grantaire paused and took a deep breath. “It’s not like I had much of a life before all this happened, but I’d give anything to have that back.”

Enjolras bit his lip and inched a little closer. “Sorry I asked,” he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s fine.” He could feel Enjolras’ fingers brushed against his under the blanket.

“I don’t...” Enjolras squeezed his hand lightly. “You know, I always had a plan and I had a future and there was so much I wanted to do. I always thought I had things under control.”

“Not anymore?” Grantaire asked.

“Not anymore,” Enjolras agreed. His eyes fluttered shut then, but he didn’t let go of Grantaire’s hand. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime,” Grantaire whispered.

He fell asleep quickly, Enjolras’ even breathing and the raindrops tapping on the roof of the barn lulling him to sleep.

* * *

“Do you think we should go any further?”

“That would be unwise.”

“Well, should we go back?”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea either.”

“We need to go somewhere, ‘Ferre. We can’t just stay here, it’s getting dark and there’s still no trace of Enjolras.” Courfeyrac stared up at Combeferre, who seemed to be so completely out of his depth that it actually scared him a little. “We need to find him.”

“Keep your voice down,” Combeferre mumbled. “We need to find someplace to spend the night.”

“What about Enjolras?” He wouldn’t leave this godforsaken forest if he didn’t get Enjolras back safe and sound.

“I want to find him as much as you do, but it would be stupid to wander through the woods after nightfall.”

“Combeferre, we can’t just abandon him.”

“We won’t be able to help him if we get ourselves killed.”

“But ‘Ferre-”

“We passed a hunter’s hut not too long ago, maybe we can stay there until the sun comes up again.”

“What if Enjolras went back to the farm?” Courfeyrac followed Combeferre back the way they’d come from, trying not to fall on the slippery ground. “What if he thinks we just took off without him?”

“You know that he wouldn’t think that,” Combeferre said sternly, “Please stop being unreasonable. I don’t like this any more than you do, but if Enjolras is still out here, I’m sure he’s found shelter somewhere and we need to do the same.”

“What do you mean, _if_ he’s still out here?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Courfeyrac felt like crying. He felt like screaming Enjolras’ name until he came running back to them or until his lungs gave out. “He’s not dead, Combeferre.”

“I very much hope so,” Combeferre whispered. “Being dead or alive are not the only two options these days.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. He felt like a petulant child, but he couldn’t let Combeferre say these things anymore. They’d both known Enjolras since they were kids, and they’d promised they’d look out for each other. “He’s not dead.” Courfeyrac swallowed hard. “And he’s not-”

“You don’t know that. All we know is that _something_ must have happened to him, otherwise he would have come back to us. Let’s just hope he got lost for now.”

Combeferre started moving again, Courfeyrac followed.  “We shouldn’t have let him go alone,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“There’s nothing we can do now. It happened. We let him go and it was a mistake. Beating yourself up about it won’t help at all. I feel guilty, too, you know? But we need to stay focused. We owe that much to Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac was pretty sure that without Combeferre they wouldn’t have made it this far in a million years, and deep down he knew that his friend was right, so he nodded and took Combeferre’s hand.

He wasn’t going to lose him as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a lot of people left kudos for the first chapter, so I just figured you guys really liked it and I also really enjoyed writing the next chapter, so I guess you can expect more updates soon(ish).   
> Thank you so much for your support!


	3. Chapter 3

He snuck up to the hunter’s hut with caution, his footsteps were inaudible on the soft ground, and he was near-invisible in the shadow of the trees. He hadn’t meant to stay away until nightfall, but finding his way back after he’d been wandering through the woods for most of the day had been rather difficult, and now, it seemed, he’d also lost his place to stay the night.

Obviously, he hadn’t left behind much, but it was enough to make him stay and wait this out to get it back. He climbed a tree, ignoring the drizzle as best as he could, watching the lights flickering in the hut, wondering if the ability to use a flashlight was proof enough that the people inside were human. It was probably was.

Then again, trusting humans had never been one of his strengths, and these days he was even more cautious.

Some people weren’t above killing you in the dead of the night if they wanted your supplies to make it out of this mess alive. Everyone fought their own war now.

He sighed quietly, leaned back and waited.

* * *

Combeferre knew he should use the few hours of peace they had to catch up on sleep. He spent them worrying instead.

Courfeyrac was curled up on the floor right next to him, murmuring in his sleep every now and again, drooling onto his jacket, which he was using as a pillow. Combeferre was a little jealous, to be quite honest. He’d hardly got more than a few hours of sleep each night ever since they’d set out to leave the country.

But he’d always made do with those few hours. Only weeks ago he’d spent his nights talking to Enjolras, their talks and discussions filling the hours until it was well past midnight and they dragged themselves to bed, only to get up again as soon as the sun rose.

He missed Enjolras, and he was worried sick. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t still have Courfeyrac beside him.

He couldn’t even think of a time that the three of them hadn’t been together.

At first, they’d decided not to leave Paris. They’d decided to fight. Together. They’d believed that they could make a difference, that the situation they were in wasn’t as hopeless as it seemed, that there was _something_ to fight for.

And they’d been wrong.

Eventually they’d left, because Paris had been lost. They’d thought they might be able to do some good elsewhere.

Now all they did was run.

And he wasn’t even sure where exactly they were going. They didn’t have a map, not a proper one at least, and they’d kept off the roads for days now, so he wasn’t quite sure where they were. Either way, staying away from populated areas would only work in their advantage.

They’d noticed that those creatures, whatever exactly they were – and Combeferre really longed to find out, because it was fascinating, really – didn’t actually stray too far from where they’d come from. It was almost as if they tried to keep on living the life they’d led before as best as they could.

Combeferre closed his eyes, trying not to listen for noises, not to wait for someone to burst through the door to kill them in their sleep.

It wasn’t easy.

The hut hadn’t been abandoned, not completely, which meant that whoever owned the hut or whoever had been here before could come back at any time. At least there’d been a sleeping bag, in which Courfeyrac was now curled up in, some canned food in the cupboards and a camping cooker, so they’d actually had a warm dinner for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

His thoughts soon wandered back to Enjolras, who was out there without any of his things, without food, without ammunition, all by himself. Courfeyrac was right. They shouldn’t have let him go alone.

After very, very few hours of sleep, as soon as the sun was starting to come up, Combeferre shook Courfeyrac awake and they packed up their belongings, along with the camping cooker and as much of the canned food as they could carry. They still had Enjolras’ backpack to carry around with them as well, since they hadn’t wanted to leave it behind. They’d find him again and he’d need it.

“’Ferre?” Courfeyrac mumbled as they approached the house they’d spent the night before in, “What if he’s not there?”

“Then we’ll keep looking for him,” Combeferre answered quietly.

“What if he came back and left again when we weren’t there?”

“Courfeyrac, please-” Combeferre stopped dead and turned around when he heard a crack, his eyes wandering, inspecting the trees. There was nothing there.

“What?” Courfeyrac asked.

Combeferre shook his head. “I thought I’d heard something.”

“Honestly, I don’t think zombies are smart enough to actually sneak up on people,” Courfeyrac muttered. “No offense, but they’re dead, their brains don’t work properly.”

“I am aware. But as far as we know there are more than enough people out there who are very much alive.”

“Well, there’s no one there.”

“Right,” Combeferre said. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they weren’t alone in the woods.

* * *

The first thing Enjolras noticed when he woke up was that his hand was still curled around Grantaire’s, the second thing was that every part of his body was screaming in pain.

He closed his eyes again. It really was the only movement he felt capable of right now.

Enjolras knew he’d have to get up soon, he’d have to wake up Grantaire, and then they’d have to get going. He needed to find that farm again, just to see if Combeferre and Courfeyrac were still there, even though deep down he knew that they wouldn’t be. They’d probably moved on, but they were looking for him, he was sure.

He knew them well enough to know that they’d probably never stop looking for him.

It was comforting, in a way, to know that they’d never give up on him, but it also made him feel guilty. They’d waste time searching for him instead of just going on. They’d promised each other that they wouldn’t waste any time should anything happen to one of them. They were family and of course they looked out for each other, but Enjolras just wanted to see them alive and out of danger.

He sighed and sat up, his body aching in protest. He carefully let go of Grantaire’s hand, because he didn’t want to wake him up just yet. The poor guy had looked like he could use every second of sleep he could possibly get.

Enjolras tentatively touched his bruised ribs. He was almost certain now that he hadn’t broken any, he knew how that felt and it was _much_ worse. Still, he didn’t exactly look forward to spending the better part of the day on horseback, trying to find that godforsaken farm. He felt stupid for getting lost and helpless, too, and he really wasn’t used to either of those sentiments.

He needed to look on the bright side. That was what Courfeyrac would tell him to do.

It was just a little hard for him to find something positive in all this. Well, at least he was still alive. And he wasn’t alone.

Combeferre would tell him to think about his options. Combeferre would make a list of pros and cons. No, actually, Combeferre would never find himself in a situation like this in the first place, because he would have listened to his friends when they’d told him not to go walking around the woods on his own.

But Enjolras, well, his friends had often told him that he was too stubborn for his own good.

He had many options concerning where to go from here. He could go right now, because Grantaire deserved better than having to follow around a stranger. But Enjolras couldn’t just take the horse and leave Grantaire with nothing, and if he was honest with himself he also didn’t want to go anywhere all by himself again. Assuming Grantaire was willing to let Enjolras drag him around the countryside looking for his friends, they could go back to the farm, if he managed to find his way back, or they could keep going east, which was probably the most feasible thing to do.

Lingering around here for too long would only get them in trouble. He’d checked most of the houses with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Everything was more or less empty, no supplies to be found, nothing at all. Everyone had left; the ones who’d stayed behind had paid the price.

“’s everything okay?” Grantaire mumbled sleepily. “Someone coming to have me for breakfast?”

Enjolras turned to look at him. “No, don’t worry. Let’s leave soon, though.”

“Sure.” Grantaire sat up with a groan. “You know, if zombies exist, maybe I can sell my soul to Satan, too, for some nice breakfast and a hot shower.”

Enjolras sighed. “Chances are you’ll have to go for a while without either.”

“Yeah, don’t try to make me feel better or anything, it’s fine, I can take the truth.” Grantaire untangled himself from the blanket he’d so conveniently snatched away in the night. “Anyway, what’s the plan?”

“Would you mind if we went back to the farm? I’ve considered going by myself, I don’t want to be a nuisance, but I’d rather stay with you.”

Grantaire blinked at him a couple of times before he answered. “Right, sure, let’s... go back to that farm, let’s get killed on the way, maybe, let’s-”

Enjolras frowned.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire mumbled. “The prospect of not having breakfast again makes me moody. See, it’s just that we’d probably have much better chances of finding them if we moved on. Because they did, too.”

“How do you know they did?”

“It’s what everyone would do.”

“So if one of your friends went missing you wouldn’t look for them?”

“Of course I’d look for them. And I know I promised I’d help you, but you don’t even know where that farm is, and it’s highly probable that they might have waited for you there last night, but I’m pretty sure that by now they’ve set out to look for you.”

It wasn’t that Grantaire didn’t have a point. Really. “I need to check.”

Grantaire looked at him for a long moment. “You’re going to get both of us killed.”

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“You really think I’d let you go all by yourself?” Grantaire asked, brow furrowed. “Honestly?”

“You barely know me, you don’t owe me anything.”

“That is true. But I didn’t save your ass yesterday to just let you run straight towards your certain death.”

“I’d do just fine without you,” Enjolras snapped.

“Really? On foot? Without supplies? Armed with nothing but a dagger?”

Enjolras pursed his lips. He hated how right Grantaire was. “Are you going to be an insufferable git all day?”

“This day and all the days to come, my friend,” Grantaire said, flashing him a grin. “Better get used to it.”

It took Enjolras a lot of self-restraint not to just roll his eyes at him. “Fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

“He’s not here.”

Combeferre tried not to latch on to the hysterical tone in Courfeyrac’s voice. He needed to remain calm. There were many reasons for why Enjolras might not be here. “Maybe he’s moved on.”

Courfeyrac threw his bag at Combeferre’s feet and ran around the house. “Enjolras,” he called. And again. And again and again.

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said and caught him by the elbow once he’d walked around the house, “keep your voice down.”

“I thought he was going to be here,” Courfeyrac whispered. There were tears in his eyes threatening to fall, so Combeferre pulled him in a hug and held him there, his eyes trained on the edge of the forest, far away from the house.

He knew he was just being paranoid, but once again he thought he saw something moving there, in the shadows.

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Grantaire mumbled. He was, once again, clinging to Enjolras, even though they’d slowed down a while ago, but Grantaire still didn’t feel all too comfortable on horseback. Quite frankly, he felt like he was going to die.

“Would you stop acting like a petulant child?” Enjolras hissed.

Yesterday Grantaire had been convinced that they might actually get along. Today he was pretty sure that they would probably end up murdering each other instead of those who were trying to make a meal out of them.

Anyway, he didn’t think he needed to dignify that with an answer.

They moved on, and even though it had stopped raining, it was strangely cool for a summer day, and Grantaire hoped they’d find the farm soon, because he was cold and hungry and tired, and yes, maybe he was as close to a petulant child as an adult could possibly be.

He understood why it was so hard for Enjolras to find his way back, though, everything in these woods looked the same and for all Grantaire knew they could have been riding around in circles for hours.

“Let’s play a game,” Grantaire said after a while. “I’ll ask you a question, you answer, then you get to ask a question.”

Enjolras sighed. “I believe that’s what you’d call a conversation.”

“Fine, be like that.”

“Like what?” Enjolras inquired grumpily.

“Not...fun.”

“Well, this is hardly a good time for having fun.”

“What would you suggest, then?” Grantaire asked. “A serious discussion about the meaning of life maybe?”

Enjolras remained silent for a while and Grantaire was almost starting to think that he might be sulking, then he sighed. “Okay, whatever. Ask away.”

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll start easy. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Red. What’s yours?”

“That’s not how the game works, you have to think of a different question. But I’ll let that slide. It’s green.” Grantaire thought for a moment. “Do you like pizza?”

“Of course. What kind of question is that?”

“An important one. Maybe we can be friends after all. Why do you know so much about horses?”

“Wait a second, it’s my turn.”

“No, it’s not,” Grantaire said. He invented the game; he was allowed to bend the rules. “So?”

Enjolras grumbled something Grantaire couldn’t hear as they crossed a small stream. “My family had horses,” he said once they’d made it to the other side, “I was taught how to ride when I was young. How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-five.” Grantaire would have loved to return that question, because really, Enjolras looked like he was barely legal, but the way he talked had Grantaire doubting that he actually was. “Did you-”

“That’s it,” Enjolras interrupted. “We found it.”

They’d reached the edge of the forest and Grantaire could spy a small house in the distance. “Are you sure it’s the right one?”

“Positive,” Enjolras answered, and they sped up again.

Grantaire let out an undignified yelp and clutched at Enjolras’ hoodie again. It was the red one Grantaire had got for him the day before. At least he’d picked his favourite colour.

He waited outside the house while Enjolras ran inside, tensely holding on to Pony’s reins.

Enjolras reappeared a few minutes later, his expression stony, stubborn. “They’re not here,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire muttered. “Really.”

“Do you mind if we stay the night?” Enjolras asked. “Maybe they’ll come back later.”

“Or maybe they’ve already been here,” Grantaire remarked. It wasn’t that he wanted to dishearten Enjolras, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up either. They weren’t here and they wouldn’t come back.

“Please,” Enjolras said. “I know you’re tired and that you’d rather not go-”

“Okay, okay. Let’s stay here for a bit.” Maybe Enjolras was right. In any case, Grantaire didn’t want to be the one at fault if they did show up after all.

And he _was_ tired. He’d probably sleep for a week if Enjolras let him. Which he sure as hell wouldn’t.  

Grantaire was developing a quite alarming tendency to just let Enjolras have his way, because even though he seemed like he had a massive stick up his ass, he also was a decent guy, and Grantaire liked him.

He could only hope that _that_ wouldn’t turn into a problem.

* * *

Across the field and behind a grove a dark figure still followed two men, hidden in the shadows, still taking good care not to be seen.

The two of them had lost a friend, apparently, and they’d been so heartbroken when they hadn’t found him, he’d almost run up to them to console them. However, he’d decided to watch a little longer. Just to see where they were going, because, really, you couldn’t be too careful.

He treaded lightly. The tall one with the glasses had almost seen him this afternoon and he wasn’t going to risk being discovered again. He’d have to approach them soon, though, because he wouldn’t be able to keep up with them much longer, at least not if he wanted to get some sleep any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry about the late update, I have exams. the next one hopefully won't take that long.)


	4. Chapter 4

“I put Pony in the garage,” Grantaire said and flopped down on the sofa next to Enjolras. “It’s not ideal, but I don’t want to sleep in a barn again, even though it was cosy.” He batted his eyelashes him, which he chose to ignore, then Grantaire reached for one of the glass jars Enjolras had put on the coffee table. “Where did you find those?”

“Basement,” Enjolras told him. He’d discovered them together with Combeferre and Courfeyrac the other day. “There’s a lot of jam down there, too, in case you don’t want to eat, um, home-canned fruit and vegetables.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll just eat some jam with a spoon, that sounds great,” Grantaire grumbled.

Enjolras could understand he was grumpy, he wasn’t a walking and talking ray of sunshine either, but to be honest, he had never been. That was Courfeyrac’s job, but even he had lost a little of his spirit over the last couple of weeks. It wasn’t surprising under these circumstances.

He sighed and leaned back, looking around the living room. It reminded him of his grandparents’ house, with the old grandfather clock and the dozens of photographs lining the walls. Photographs of people who were quite possibly dead. Or worse.

The air was stuffy in the house but Enjolras didn’t dare open any windows. At least they had a bed to sleep in. At least they were relatively safe for another night.

“Did you lock the door?” Enjolras asked quietly.

“Yeah, I also pushed a drawer in front of it, just in case.” Grantaire fiddled with the laces of his shoes for a moment, then he kicked them off. “What now? Canned pickles for whatever meal it is we’re having? And maybe afterwards we can pretend to watch TV.”

Enjolras didn’t answer. He didn’t know. Courfeyrac and Combeferre weren’t here and he had no idea what to do next or where to go or how to not despair completely. He swallowed hard. He wasn’t going to lose it now, he’d made it this far and he could make it even further. He’d always made a point in proving others wrong, in convincing them, now he only needed to convince himself.

Grantaire must have noticed that he’d grown quiet and a little agitated, because he tentatively took his hand and squeezed it lightly. “We’re going to be okay.”

Enjolras knew he only said it for his benefit, because Grantaire sounded doubtful more than anything else. “You don’t sound convinced,” Enjolras mumbled, staring down at the ghastly mustard-coloured rug. It was better than looking at Grantaire, though, because he was afraid that his expression might tell Grantaire all the things he didn’t want to say. That he was scared and losing hope, that he was exhausted, that he’d never felt this useless or out of his depth in his whole life.

“That’s because I’m not,” Grantaire said honestly, “I thought conviction was your department and that you might pick up on that.”

“Not right now,” Enjolras muttered and closed his eyes.

He needed a distraction. Or maybe just some sleep.

* * *

“We should try to get a car,” Courfeyrac said lowly as he emerged from the lake they’d stopped at to rest. He shook his head, sending drops of water flying off in every direction. “Maybe then we’d get out of here a little faster.”

Combeferre wrinkled his nose. “All the roads are blocked.”

Courfeyrac knew that, too. And it wasn’t just the roads that would present a problem. Petrol was scarce. Most cars probably wouldn’t even start anymore. “At this pace we’ll die of old age before we reach the border,” Courfeyrac grumbled as he pulled dry clothes out of his backpack. He didn’t have too much to choose from. He didn’t have much of anything these days, and it bothered him more than he’d thought it would.

Courfeyrac didn’t dare complain, though, because at least they were still alive, at least they still had a chance. Many others weren’t that lucky.

“We’ll find a way,” Combeferre assured him, “and we’ll find Enjolras.”

“I hope so,” Courfeyrac mumbled. He was incredibly close to just bursting into tears again, so he quickly jumped to his feet and looked around. “Where do you want to spend the night?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t seen any houses in a while.”

“I can watch out for zombies while you sleep,” Courfeyrac said. He knew Combeferre had hardly slept the night before. Whether it was because of Enjolras or because of their hopeless situation he didn’t know, but he felt bad that he’d slept like a baby while Combeferre had been up worrying, no doubt.

Sometimes Courfeyrac wondered if Combeferre thought that it was his job to worry about him and Enjolras, because it seemed to him that it was all he ever did. Courfeyrac counted himself lucky to have a friend who cared about him so much, of course, but he also felt guilty about all the trouble he’d caused him ever since the day they’d first met.

Combeferre sighed. “Promise you’ll wake me up after a couple of hours.”

“Sure,” Courfeyrac said, pacing in a circle around Combeferre, who kept his eyes trained on the surrounding fields and woods, seemingly not in the least distracted by Courfeyrac’s unrest.

Courfeyrac couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something on his mind that he wasn’t telling him. “What’s wrong, ‘Ferre?”

“I just... I keep seeing... someone. Not Enjolras,” he added quickly, “more like a shadow.” Combeferre shrugged and readjusted his glasses. “I’m probably just being paranoid. There’s clearly no one there,” he said, vaguely gesturing at the nearby forest.

Just as Combeferre said it, Courfeyrac saw something move, not in the forest but behind a single tree, much closer to where they were. Without even thinking about it he started running, could hear Combeferre call his name, but whoever had been hiding from them was now running away, across the field and toward the forest, and they were undoubtedly human.

Because Zombies didn’t run from people, they ran towards them.

Courfeyrac was fast, he had always been, and his friends had always watched with envy when he’d darted away, and it wasn’t different now. He was pretty sure that Combeferre wasn’t even trying to follow him.

He caught up with whoever had been following them rather quickly, threw himself forward and they landed on the soft green grass, both of them panting. Courfeyrac looked down at the boy whose hips he was now straddling, keeping him firmly on the ground. “Well, hello there.”

Gentle green eyes stared back at him defiantly. “Hello,” he said curtly. He looked very much alive and very much like he was trying to get out of here, just like them. He was carrying a backpack, something that looked suspiciously like a sword, and was dressed all in black, but there was strawberry blond hair peeking out from under the hood of his jacket.

Courfeyrac grinned. He liked him already. “Do you have a name?”

“I do,” the boy confirmed. “Do you?”

“I’m Courfeyrac,” he said and winked at him. “Fancy meeting you here. Sorry about, um, this.”

“Yeah, could you get off of me, maybe?”

“Tell me your name first.”

The boy sighed. “Call me Jehan. Now get off.”

“Don’t run away again,” Courfeyrac said seriously.

“I won’t.”

“Promise.”

“I-”

“Everything okay?” Combeferre had approached without either of them noticing and was now looking down of them, his expression amused.

“I just made a new friend,” Courfeyrac told him cheerfully.

“Well, since we’re friends,” Jehan piped up, “maybe you could stop treating me like a captive and let me go?”

Courfeyrac got up and pulled Jehan up with him. “Jehan, this is my friend Combeferre, ‘Ferre, this is Jehan.”

Combeferre shook hands with him. “Have you been following us all day?”

“Maybe,” Jehan said slowly.

“You could have just, I don’t know, come up to us and introduced yourself,” Courfeyrac mused. “We don’t bite. Unless-”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said sternly, then he turned to Jehan. “So?”

“I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t murder me in my sleep first,” Jehan said simply. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

Combeferre nodded. “Can’t blame you for being careful.”

“Anyway, I wanted to get some of my stuff back,” Jehan said, eyes now fixed on Courfeyrac.

“Your stuff?”

“Yes, you took my sleeping bag, for example. I left it at the hut and I was hoping you’d leave it there, but obviously you found it quite useful,” Jehan mused, a smirk playing around his lips.

Courfeyrac blinked at him slowly. Jehan was beautiful when he was smiling like that and it was distracting. “Oh, that’s... yours.”

Jehan nodded.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

Jehan grinned, fixing him with that intense stare from earlier again. “Well, I don’t mind sharing.” With that he winked at them – no, at Courfeyrac – and marched off to where he and Combeferre had set up for the night.

Courfeyrac stared after him in awe.

* * *

Grantaire looked at Enjolras, whose head kept lolling to the side, and eventually took pity on him and eased him down onto the sofa. He tucked a blanket around him, then he sat down in an old, musty-smelling armchair and opened one of the glass jars and fished out a pickle. Well, it was better than nothing and his stomach had been rumbling all day.

It was eerily quiet in the old house, there were no creaks, and no noises could be heard from outside. He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or if they were actually surrounded by zombies who’d snuck up on them and had been uncharacteristically stealthy about it.

Grantaire couldn’t help but get up and sneak a glance outside. He couldn’t see anything unusual.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the curtains back into place and turned around to look at Enjolras, who seemed a little restless. Grantaire couldn’t even begin to imagine what he was going through. He had always been alone, and he’d never wanted to be anything else. He had left his family behind and had never looked back and now he had the advantage of having nothing to lose. Enjolras already had lost – had lost his home and his friends and, as it seemed, his hope as well.

Grantaire refrained from trying to offer comfort, because Enjolras was stubborn, he’d noticed that much, and even though he wasn’t above showing weakness, Grantaire wasn’t sure if Enjolras would want him to.

He sat back down in his armchair and closed his eyes to get some rest.

When Grantaire woke up again, the sun was setting and Enjolras wasn’t sleeping on the sofa anymore. The blanket Grantaire had got for Enjolras earlier was now slung around him.

Grantaire untangled himself and slowly padded down the hall, looking for Enjolras. For a few terrible seconds he thought he might have taken off without him, that he might have left him here all by himself. Then he found him in the kitchen, pacing.

“You’re up,” he said, never stopping, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“I am,” Grantaire confirmed. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”

Enjolras stopped dead, but still didn’t look at him. “Yeah. I’m just... thinking.”

“You don’t look okay,” Grantaire mumbled, crossed his arms and leaned back against the counter. “What are you thinking about?”

“About what to do next. And other things. Lots of other things. Sometimes my brain just won’t shut up.”

“Well, I know how that feels,” Grantaire said. “And what do you think we should do next?”

“I don’t know.”

Grantaire hummed. “That’s not much to go on.”

“Oh, really?” Enjolras snapped, his blue eyes cold. “Maybe you should help me instead of making useless comments.”

“Sorry, but being useless is all I was ever good at,” Grantaire said roughly.

Enjolras scoffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“No, no, it’s true, just ask my father, he’ll gladly confirm it for you. Unless he ended up as a zombie snack.” Grantaire shrugged. “Anyway,” he added, when Enjolras stared at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read, “why don’t you come sit down and eat something.”

Enjolras considered it for a long moment, then he stalked out of the kitchen without another word. Grantaire watching him go, shaking his head.

Before he joined Enjolras back in the living room, he sifted through the cupboards and the storage room, delighted when he found a few bottles of wine. He took one of them, grabbed a corkscrew and a bag of crisps from his backpack and joined Enjolras on the sofa.

Enjolras watched him as he opened the bottle and took a swig. Grantaire had never appreciated cheap wine as much as he did in this moment. “Want some?” he asked and held out the bottle for Enjolras.

“You know,” he mumbled, ignoring him completely, “two days ago I sat right here on this sofa with Combeferre and Courfeyrac.” He briefly considered the bottle of wine. “Do you really think that drinking is a good idea right now?”

“Yes, definitely,” Grantaire said, lifted the bottle to his lips and drank.

“What if we’re attacked and you’re drunk?” Enjolras inquired. “What then?”

“Aren’t you just a little killjoy” Grantaire muttered.

“I’m not,” Enjolras protested, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

Grantaire shrugged. “Whatever.”

“So eloquent,” Enjolras hissed.

“Oh, fuck off. You know how long it’s been since I last had a drink? Too fucking long. So please just let me have this and go look all judgemental somewhere else. Or have some, too.”

Enjolras didn’t answer, but took the bottle from Grantaire this time. “I don’t really like wine,” he said quietly, but took a sip anyway.

They fell silent, passing the bottle, although Grantaire was pretty sure that he’d had much more than just half of the bottle. By the time they’d emptied it, he felt warm and not overcome with a certain sense of doom for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

It took him a while to notice that Enjolras was staring at him. His eyes looked dark and serious, focused, too, even though he must be at least a little tipsy. Grantaire wasn’t sure if anyone had ever looked at him with such intensity and he had to fight the impulse to look away.

He drew in a sharp breath when Enjolras tentatively touched his thigh, eyes never leaving his. All Grantaire could do was remain completely still and let this happen, whatever it was. He didn’t speal until Enjolras’ finger starting creeping upwards. “Enjolras?” he whispered, “What are you-”

“Don’t,” Enjolras said as he leaned closer, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t _what_?” Grantaire asked, leaning closer as well, so close that he could feel Enjolras’ breath ghosting against his skin.

Enjolras’ lips brushed against his for the briefest of seconds. “Don’t talk. Unless you want me to stop.”

There was no way in hell Grantaire would ever ask him to stop. He’d let him have anything he wanted, whatever it was, he was down. “Okay, I think I can do that,” Grantaire mumbled eventually.

“Obviously not,” Enjolras mused, shuddering when Grantaire nipped at his lower lip. “I usually don’t do this,” he added, his voice low.

“ _This_ as in trying to seduce guys you barely know on uncomfortable sofas because you just realised that you might die soon and that now might be a good time to make up for all the things you’ve never done?”

“Something like that,” Enjolras whispered against is lips.

Grantaire breathed in, then out, in again, eyes locked with Enjolras, who remained completely still, except when his nose brushed against Grantaire’s for a mere second, his fingertips burning against his thigh. “Are you sure about this?” Grantaire asked. He needed to check, because this was happening too fast, they were just strangers who’d ended up together by chance, and tomorrow one of them might be dead. But maybe that was exactly why they needed this. Now they were alive. And Grantaire had never turned anything down that the universe had provided.

Enjolras’ answer came quickly. “Yes,” he breathed, and there was a kind of certainty in his voice, and stubbornness, and that was really all Grantaire needed.

He sucked at Enjolras’ bottom lip and was rewarded with a sharp gasp. Grantaire smiled  against Enjolras’ lips and pulled him down on the sofa with him, his mind blank, not quite catching up with what was happening.

He reached up to help Enjolras tug off his shirt, fingers ghosting over his bruised ribs on their way back down, noting that Enjolras’ breath hitched when he did. Then his hands wandered upwards again to undo Enjolras’ bun, sending tangled blond locks cascading down over his shoulders. Grantaire brushed through them, or better, tried to, because he ended up tugging a little too roughly, which didn’t seem to be entirely unwelcome, though, since Enjolras mouth fell open in a quiet moan, hips pushing down to meet Grantaire’s.

Grantaire grinned, grabbed a handful of Enjolras’ hair – and yes, he really did like that – and pulled him into a kiss that was much less innocent than the ones they’d shared before. Enjolras let Grantaire play him like an instrument, like the old fiddle that Grantaire had left in Paris to rot, the one his grandmother had given him when he hadn’t even been big enough to hold it properly just yet.

It didn’t take long for him to find out which strings to pull, and when Grantaire sat up so he could discard his own shirt, he took his chance to latch onto Enjolras’ throat with just a hint of teeth, then he stilled right there, mumbling against his skin. “Lie back.”

Enjolras complied, staring up at him, eyes wide and glazed, fingernails digging into the skin of Grantaire’s back, pulling him down with him.

Grantaire started grinding his hips down against Enjolras’ until he was gasping for breath and Enjolras was whimpering, his lips parted and his head thrown back, blond curls splayed out beneath him, absolutely gorgeous in the light of the setting sun that was still filtering in through the curtains.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Grantaire breathed, leaving a trail of kisses along Enjolras’ jaw line, before he moved down, nosing along Enjolras’ bruised skin. Enjolras made a noise that could have been either pain or please, but Grantaire didn’t still long enough to check and busied himself with the zipper of Enjolras’ black jeans.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras groaned, still clutching at him, seeking friction. “Please, Grantaire...”

“Patience,” Grantaire muttered and pushed Enjolras’ trousers down, leaving his briefs right where they were. “It’s a virtue, you know?” Grantaire muttered as he nuzzled at the outline of Enjolras’ dick through the fabric.

“Fuck,” Enjolras grit out, fingers knotting in Grantaire’s hair, loosely, just to guide him where he wanted him. “Do something.”

“So needy,” Grantaire mused, a smile playing around his lips. “Say please again.”

Enjolras moaned and tightened his grip on Grantaire’s hair. “Fuck you.”

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully. “That’s not quite it.” Grantaire raked his fingers down Enjolras’ chest, carefully avoiding the bruised side. “Try again.”

Enjolras eyes fluttered shut and he drew in a shaky breath. “Please, Grantaire, please, please, _please_.”

“Much better,” Grantaire said, quite proud of himself, because so far he was only freaking out internally.

He pushed down Enjolras’ briefs, slowly licked a stripe up the length of his cock before he took the head into his mouth, sucking lightly. He’d take his sweet time with this, because this was the apocalypse and they didn’t have anywhere to go until morning.

“You’re a fucking tease,” Enjolras complained.

Grantaire pulled off and crawled up so he was face to face with Enjolras. “And you’re still talking, I must be doing something wrong.” He slowly traced Enjolras’ bottom lip with his thumb, smirking down at him.

“Maybe you have to try harder,” Enjolras mumbled and kissed the tip of his thumb.

Grantaire kissed him languidly, then he turned his attention back to Enjolras’ cock, and it really only took a few clever flicks of his tongue to reduce Enjolras to a whimpering mess, emitting a steady stream of curses.

His jaw was starting to ache and he had to hold Enjolras down to keep him from thrusting into his mouth, but it really was worth it to see Enjolras like this, so completely at his mercy, begging for more.

Enjolras came with a broken sob and Grantaire sucked him through it until he squirmed. “Ah, now you’re speechless,” Grantaire whispered and tugged Enjolras’ clothes back into place, since Enjolras seemed to be unable to do so, ignoring how tight his own jeans felt. “You alright?”

“’m fine,” Enjolras mumbled, blindly reaching for Grantaire. “Just give me a second.”

Grantaire wrapped himself around Enjolras as best as he could on the narrow sofa and started stroking his hair.

It didn’t take too long until Enjolras moved to his side and he popped open the button of Grantaire’s jeans, his hand sneaking into his boxers, stroking him with an unsteady rhythm. Grantaire hardly noticed, he’d been really close for a really long time already and it only took embarrassingly few strokes for him to come as well, with his face buried in the crook of Enjolras’ neck.

They didn’t move for a while, just held on to each other, Grantaire’s leg hooked around Enjolras to keep him from tumbling off the sofa, his fingers tangled in his hair and Enjolras’ arms wrapped around him. They stayed like that until it was almost too dark to see and Grantaire moved to pull Enjolras off the sofa. “Let’s go find a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the unplanned smut, it just sort of happened.


	5. Chapter 5

Courfeyrac tried very, very hard not to look. Even though Jehan was waist-deep in the water and technically there was nothing there to see, Courfeyrac was deeply fascinated by the slope of Jehan’s back, the pale skin covered in a multitude of freckles.

He tore his eyes away and nudged Combeferre. “Do you think he’s going to come with us?”

“I certainly won’t send him away if wants to,” Combeferre said slowly. “I don’t think he wants to, though.”

“Why not?” Courfeyrac asked. He sounded whiney. He really did want Jehan to come with them. For god’s sake, he’d met that boy thirty minutes ago, how the hell had this happened?

“Courf,” Combeferre sighed. “Now is hardly the time.”

“Shut up,” Courfeyrac grumbled. “So, why do you think he doesn’t want to? Am I not charming enough? Am I not handsome enough?”

Combeferre smiled at him the same way he always smiled at him when he was being ridiculous but he didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop. Courfeyrac was pretty sure that it was because Combeferre actually thought he was hilarious but had yet to admit that to himself.

“There’s a reason he was hiding from us, you know? He didn’t want us to find him, he just wanted his things back.”

Courfeyrac only shrugged, trying not to get distracted when Jehan emerged from the lake. He ended up sitting right next to Courfeyrac, wearing only a pair of grey skinny jeans, his chest bare, his wet hair sending drops of water running down his back.

Combeferre took to cooking them dinner with their newly found camping cooker, Courfeyrac quietly considered Jehan.

“What’s your story?” he asked him after a while.

“It’s a long one,” Jehan replied quietly, “and it’s one for another day.”

“I see,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

Jehan gave him a small smile, then he yawned. “Do you mind if I stay with you guys for the night? I haven’t slept in a while.”

“You can stay with us however long you want,” Combeferre said. “Do you want something to eat?”

Jehan shook his head. “I’d rather just take a nap.”

“Here’s your sleeping bag.” Courfeyrac handed it to him, refraining from apologising again for just taking it.

Jehan thanked him, tugged a shirt from his backpack and tucked himself in. “If you kill me in my sleep, I’ll come back to haunt you,” he said seriously, then he lay down, his head pillowed on Courfeyrac’s thigh, and was asleep within minutes.

* * *

Enjolras woke up early in the morning, with his limbs tangled around Grantaire, who was a warm weight on Enjolras’ chest, his curls tickling his chin. He didn’t push Grantaire off of him, he didn’t move at all, only kept holding on to him, knowing that it was just a matter of seconds until his brain would start coming up with reasons why what had happened between them the night before had been a mistake. And then he’d have to let go.

Enjolras had never been in search of a serious, committed relationship. He’d never had time for any of that. He hadn’t had the patience either. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t had his fair share of one night stands. He’d never liked them, or enjoyed them all that much, but they’d grounded him, somehow, they’d helped him think straight, so every couple of months or so, he’d gone out with his friends and hadn’t returned home alone.

But last night, well, last night had been different. He hadn’t felt like he couldn’t look Grantaire in the eye, he’d wanted to, he’d wanted to see him, he hadn’t made sure it was over as quickly as possible, he’d wanted it to last forever, he’d enjoyed how Grantaire had moved with him, as if they’d already done it a million times before.

And that was why it had been a mistake. Because afterwards he hadn’t thought more clearly, he’d been confused, completely gone. He’d given up control, had given himself to Grantaire completely and Grantaire hadn’t made him regret it. There hadn’t been a single coherent thought ghosting through his mind, his skin had felt like it was on fire, he’d fought for each breath like he was drowning. It had never been like that before. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel like that.

 And now he wanted to feel like that again. And again.

Enjolras wasn’t quite sure how to deal with this, he wasn’t sure what to say to Grantaire once he woke up. Usually Enjolras kicked everyone out of his bed before the sun came up to make sure that wasn’t going to happen.

Now he was somewhat torn between enjoying the peace and quiet as long as it lasted, and waking Grantaire up, because he was actually eager to set out again, although it would be unreasonable to do so before the sun had fully risen.

Grantaire did stir after a while, but only to nuzzle at Enjolras’ neck with a small sigh, or so it seemed at first, until he froze and sat up abruptly. “Sorry,” he muttered, “didn’t mean to misuse you as a pillow.”

“It’s fine,” Enjolras said and sat up as well.

Grantaire nodded. “Okay.” He took a deep breath, eyes wide and fixed on Enjolras. “Do you want to leave soon? See if we can find your friends anywhere around here?”

“Great, yes, let’s do that.”

“Good,” Grantaire mumbled, slid out of bed and grabbed the clothes he’d taken upstairs last night, shimmied back into his jeans and slipped his shirt back on and turned to leave the room.

Enjolras cleared his throat, causing Grantaire to stop and turn back around, looking at him questioningly.

“About last night,” Enjolras started, trying to avoid looking at Grantaire. “That was… nice.”

“It was,” Grantaire agreed, a smile tugging at his lips. “And we don’t ever have to talk about it again if you don’t want to. I mean, I get it, you were upset and you needed a distraction. You weren’t the first guy to fall into my bed because he had a bad day, believe me. It’s all good.”

Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, but…” He trailed off. He wasn’t even sure what he’d meant to say anymore.

“But?” Grantaire prompted.

Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know. I just don’t want things to be awkward between us.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Don’t make things awkward, then.” He winked, then he turned around and left.

* * *

After days of searching the forests surrounding the farm house they’d stayed at, they’d decided to make their way back to the main road. They’d needed to get to a town, a village, anywhere they might find something to eat, because they were slowly but surely running out of supplies.

They’d come to regret that decision not too long after, when they’d come across a group of zombies, lurking in the shadows. Grantaire had promptly jumped off Pony and had got rid of them in a matter of minutes, Enjolras staying behind, the gun Grantaire had given him at the ready, making sure that none of them would get to Pony. They’d had to discard the gun the day before because they’d run out of ammunition.

Now they’d stopped at a department store, both of them sweaty from the late-afternoon sun beating down on them and hungry and completely exhausted. They’d even stopped bickering about where to spend the night, and after a while they’d stopped talking altogether.

It had been a companionable silence, though. Enjolras had been rather quiet during the last couple of days and Grantaire would have been worried, hadn’t Enjolras curled up with his head buried against Grantaire’s neck every night, no matter if they spent it in barns or out in the open where one of them needed to keep watch.

He wasn’t quite sure where exactly that put them. Enjolras hadn’t tried talking about what had happened between them again, and at first Grantaire had tried to give him space, should he have wanted it, but it didn’t seem like he did. He always kept close to Grantaire, in one way or another, and Grantaire sure as hell wouldn’t complain.

Grantaire brushed a few curls out of his eyes. “Shouldn’t we take Pony inside?” he asked, looking around the parking lot.

Enjolras led Pony onto a patch of grass that was dotted with flowerbeds, which obviously hadn’t been tended to in a long while. “Maybe we should leave him out here, we have rope, right? We can tie him to that tree over there.”

Grantaire nodded, although he didn’t feel good about leaving Pony out here all by himself. He untied both their backpacks from the saddle and handed Enjolras the rope. He took a good look around, not spotting anything unusual, except for the still intact shop windows maybe. Either everyone had left this place very, very quickly, or everyone here had been turned.

He shivered, despite the heat and walked back over to Enjolras, who was waiting for him in the shade of the tree next to Pony.

Grantaire took Enjolras by the hand and led him around the building, not wanting to break the glass in front and draw attention to them, and picked the lock of a door that led into a huge storage room.

“How do you know how to do that?” Enjolras asked conversationally as they walked past never-ending rows of shelves.

“Someone taught me at some point.” To be quite honest, Grantaire didn’t even remember who and when. He shrugged. “It’s pretty useful.”

“It sure is,” Enjolras mumbled, but Grantaire could hardly hear it over the loud crash that followed.

Grantaire turned around, squinting at the darkness. He drew his rapier and slowly walked forward, keeping Enjolras behind him.

“Can you see anything?” Enjolras whispered. There was a hint of fear in his voice, but he drew his dagger confidently all the same.

Grantaire shook his head. The light filtering in through the small, dusty windows wasn’t enough to see properly, but Grantaire was pretty sure that whoever was sneaking around here wasn’t going to invite them for a cup of tea and a friendly chat.

They moved onwards, careful not to make a sound, their fingers intertwined. Grantaire didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare make any sound that would give them away.

Now, after all this time, he’d probably die a zombie movie death after all. Just fabulous.

He heard a loud screech, then Enjolras’ hand was yanked from his. Grantaire spun around and found Enjolras on the ground, a blood-smeared figure keeping him down. He grabbed the zombie by the tattered shirt he was wearing and pushed him away from Enjolras, who called his name, just before an arm locked tightly around his neck.

Grantaire dropped his rapier, trying to get it off, struggling helplessly. He backed the zombie against a wall, and lost sight of Enjolras, who was still trying to stab at the other one. At least now the zombie’s grip loosened enough that Grantaire could free himself and reach for his rapier, just in time to stab the third zombie that had just turned the corner.

Now it only took a few well placed kicks and he’d floored the other one that had grabbed him. He slit this one’s throat, painting the floor dark red.

He tried to wipe the blood splatters of his face, then he heard Enjolras call his name again. The remaining zombie had him pinned to one of the shelves, hand around his throat, snapping his teeth at Enjolras, who was struggling to keep him away.

Grantaire stabbed the zombie in the back and it let go of Enjolras immediately. Enjolras drew in a sharp breath, rubbing at his neck. “Are you hurt?” he whispered, reaching out for Grantaire.

“No,” Grantaire replied, took his hand and pulled him upright. “You?”

Enjolras took a few more shallow breaths before he answered. “I’ll be fine.” He looked down at the remains of their struggle. “Security guards,” he mumbled as he tugged Grantaire away.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to sit down for a minute?”

Enjolras shook his head, quickly walking up to the door that led into the store. They came across another corpse, then another one, and even though Grantaire didn’t look too closely, he was now pretty sure that they hadn’t been the first ones to break in here. It was just that those two unlucky fellows hadn’t really made it far.

“I’d suggest we split up, but I’d rather stay with you if you don’t mind,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire agreed, and was glad he did when they came across another undead security guard, two sales assistants and a few customers, who didn’t seem to feel like shopping anymore and were mostly interesting in eating them alive. They left them lying in the cereal aisle.

Obviously most shelves were mostly empty – everyone had heard the rumours about some strange virus that turned people into monsters, people had made sure they had enough supplies in case of an emergency – but they managed to fill two backpacks with food, both from the shop and from the storage room, which would hopefully last them for a while.

They also helped themselves to some more clean clothes and Grantaire found a flashlight and a camping lantern and a set of batteries while Enjolras raided the drug aisle.

When they were done assembling everything that might turn out useful, Enjolras wordlessly sank down on the floor. Grantaire was by his side within seconds.

“I’m okay,” Enjolras said, heavily leaning against him. “I just want all of this to stop. Those are people and we’re killing them, I know there’s no other way, but I wish we could just stop.”

“I know,” Grantaire whispered and started rubbing circles on Enjolras’ back and pressed a kiss to his temple. He did it without thinking about it, it just happened. Enjolras, however, only burrowed closer, clutching at Grantaire’s shirt.

“It’s fine, I got you,” Grantaire mumbled.

It must have looked odd, the two of them sitting on the floor in the middle of the beverages aisle, clinging to each other, Grantaire whispering nonsense to Enjolras.

He instantly noticed when Enjolras got a grip on himself, because he sat up straight and took a deep breath right before he scrambled back to his feet. Grantaire followed and picked up their belongings and their supplies.

He’d taken no more than four steps when Enjolras pushed him back into the aisle, shushing him.

“I didn’t say anything,” Grantaire whispered. He peered around the corner and saw why Enjolras had stopped him. There was a zombie right in front of the glass doors, moving away very slowly. A few others were trailing behind him. “Enjolras,” he said and tried to tug himself loose, “Enjolras, Pony is out there.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Shhh,” Enjolras hissed and placed his hand firmly over Grantaire’s mouth. “Look, there’s at least six of them, we can’t go out there.”

“But Enjolras,” Grantaire protested. He was still struggling, but weakly. “We can’t just leave him out there to die.” There were tears welling up in his eyes, it was ridiculous, really, it was just a horse, people he knew had died and he had barely even batted an eye, but he just couldn’t help it.

“If we go out there we’re going to get killed,” Enjolras whispered to him, “We don’t stand a chance against that many, not when we’re both this tired, we had trouble earlier and now it would be a disaster, don’t you see?”

“I can’t just let him die,” Grantaire said, pushed away Enjolras’ now limp arms, gripped his rapier and marched off.

He didn’t make it far, because Enjolras caught him around the waist and dragged him off, behind one of the cash registers, holding him down there. “I don’t want to lose Pony either, believe me, but I’m not going to let you go out there. I don’t care how much you’re going to hate me for this, but I’m not going to watch you die.”

Grantaire closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the screeches that filtered in from outside, sending chills down his spine. His whole body was shaking and Enjolras held him, like Grantaire had held him before, tears streaming freely down Grantaire’s face all the while until it finally, finally grew silent again.

Enjolras was still holding him long after they had stopped, one hand resting on his back, the other one buried in his hair.

“Let go,” Grantaire whispered. He couldn’t stand Enjolras touching him for another second. Not now, not like this.

Enjolras complied, eyes fixed on Grantaire as he quickly inched away from him. He wiped the wet streaks off his cheeks, then he buried his face in his hands, trying to get his breathing under control, trying to will his heart to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire looked up, took in Enjolras’ stony face, unmoved, like a goddamned marble statue. “Shut up,” Grantaire growled.

It wasn’t just Pony. It was this whole miserable mess he was in. It was that he was still here, that he was still fighting and that for the first time in his life he was completely unwilling to just give up like he had so many times before. He wanted to go on, he wanted to live, but it was so, so hard.

He needed a drink. Maybe a cigarette, too. And a pretty girl in his bed. Maybe two pretty girls in his bed. Anyone in his bed, just as long as he didn’t have to be alone. Well, of course he wasn’t alone, but at the moment he didn’t even want to look at Enjolras and his cold, blue eyes.  

Grantaire wordlessly got up and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Enjolras asked, quickly scrambling to his feet as well. “Grantaire?”

“Stop talking to me,” Grantaire snapped. He slowly approached the glass doors at the front of the shop, and he thought how lucky they were that no one had broken them already. Perhaps the security guards had held them back, perhaps it had been the state the security guards and the rest of the people in the shop had been in before Grantaire and Enjolras had dealt with them.

“Be careful,” Enjolras whispered from a few steps behind him.

Grantaire ignored him and stepped up right in front of the doors. There was no one outside. There were no zombies and Pony was gone as well.

Grantaire turned around, walked right past Enjolras, still avoiding looking him in the eye.

 “I really am sorry,” Enjolras said, “I only did what I thought was-”

Grantaire stopped dead and turned around, glaring at Enjolras. “Just shut the fuck up, Enjolras,” he yelled and stomped up the unmoving escalators to the upper floor.

He knew Enjolras was still right behind him, but at least now he didn’t try to apologise again. Then again, he hadn’t actually tried to apologised, he’d tried to talk Grantaire into thinking that he’d been right to not let him go.

Grantaire walked straight to the back, where a sign on a door read PRIVATE, and started inspecting the offices. At least no one had had the fantastic idea to hide out up here. All of them were deserted, but it certainly looked like the people who’d worked here had left in a hurry. There were half-empty coffee mugs still sitting on desks, together with now mouldy sandwiches. Looked like they’d realised that their security guards had turned into zombies around lunchtime.

One of the offices luckily had a small sofa, on which Grantaire made himself comfortable, Enjolras watching from the door.

“Are you pouting?” Enjolras asked as he set down all of their belongings.

“Am I _pouting_?” Grantaire repeated, incredulous. “No, Enjolras, I’m not fucking pouting. I’m angry as fuck and I want you to get out of my face.”

Enjolras winced and Grantaire almost felt bad for shouting, for completely switching off his brain-to-mouth filter, but he’d needed to get this out, otherwise it would have eaten him up from the inside.

Grantaire could feel tears springing up in his eyes again, so he looked down at the floor, at the loose sheets of paper that had undoubtedly tumbled off the desk when the office had been abandoned, at his dirty, blood-stained converse – anywhere but Enjolras.

Enjolras remained standing in the door for a few long minutes, then he eventually left and a few seconds later Grantaire could the door of the office across the hall click shut.

Grantaire sighed, unwrapped a chocolate bar and sullenly bit off a chunk. He knew Enjolras had been right. There was no way he would have stood a chance against more than half a dozen of zombies, but that wouldn’t have kept him from trying.

He kept staring at the opposite wall, definitely not listening for what Enjolras was doing, trying to keep himself from freaking out for no reason at all. It happened a lot lately that he felt some old and all too familiar anxiety tingling in his fingertips, crushing him, making it hard to breathe.

Grantaire knew he could go and talk to Enjolras, let him distract him, but he didn’t want to give Enjolras the satisfaction that he’d come crawling back.

He picked up his rapier and his dagger and quietly snuck down the hall and back down the escalators to find some cigarettes. He knew he shouldn’t, but at least it would calm him down a little.

He’d just pocketed a couple of packs and two lighters, just in case he ever felt like having a smoke and wasn’t conveniently camping out in a department store, when he heard a loud clatter somewhere in the back.

“Enjolras?” he called, looking around the dark shop. “Is that you?”

There was no answer, only another thump, and the distinct sound of Grantaire’s heart hammering its way out of his ribcage.

He took a deep breath and walked back towards where the noise had come from, back into the storage hall. Squinting into the darkness, he moved forward, his rapier steady in his hand. There was a muffled groan, followed by a squelching noise that Grantaire didn’t even want to think about.

What he should do was turn around and leave. Go get Enjolras and come back together with him. He shouldn’t do this alone. He didn’t have to if he stopped behaving like a stubborn little shit right now.

Grantaire peered around the corner, saw a toppled over shelf on the floor, which had undoubtedly caused the clatter he’d heard. Behind it, on the ground was a zombie crouching over the ones they’d left behind here earlier that day, making a meal out of them.

Right, he should _definitely_ not be here on his own.

Grantaire wasn’t quite sure where that one had come from. It had probably been in here all this time and they hadn’t even noticed. This one wasn’t one of the security guards either, it looked like it was wearing a tattered business suit, so maybe it had been the manager or the owner, or just some unlucky business man who hadn’t made it out in time.

Grantaire ignored that his hands had started trembling ever so slightly. He could do this. It was just one zombie. He’d got rid of more all by himself, but he was so used to Enjolras having his back, it now seemed like an impossible venture.

It was probably because of that that he stepped on one of the bags of crisps on the concrete floor, crushing them noisily, and the zombie ahead turned around immediately, hissing as he jumped to his feet and came charging at Grantaire. He was too stunned to just turn around and run away, and within seconds he was pinned to the floor, an ugly, rotting face right above him, blood dripping down on him, fingers closing around his neck.

Grantaire grabbed for his dagger, since his rapier had flown off too far for him to reach, and it only took two or three well-placed stabs that sent more blood gushing all over him before he could finally throw the zombie off.

It had been a short encounter, surely, but it left him weary and out of breath, so he just remained lying there, in a puddle of red, his surroundings growing darker, until he was engulfed in darkness and he remembered that he was, in fact, not alone. Enjolras was still there.

He got up, collected his weapons and lit a cigarette, picked up a flashlight and a bottle of brandy on his way and took a couple of swigs as he stumbled upstairs.

Grantaire found Enjolras still in the office he’d retreated to, completely unaware of what Grantaire had been up to. Enjolras didn’t even look up when he came in. He just sat there, holding a small flashlight between his teeth, fiddling with a radio that emitted nothing but crackling noises and Enjolras looked like he was about to just throw it out the window.

“Getting anything?” Grantaire asked. He sounded like a complete wreck. He felt like one, too.

“Just noise so far,” Enjolras replied and finally looked up, shining his flashlight right at him. His eyes went wide. “What happened?” He threw the flashlight down on the desk and jumped to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Grantaire nodded, not even trying to get Enjolras’ hands off when he grabbed his face and tried to wipe away the blood there. He let Enjolras take away his brandy, because now he had something else to hold on to, he let him drag him over to the sofa, but tried to move away when Enjolras made an attempt to hold him. “I’m going to get blood all over you,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I don’t care,” Enjolras said resolutely and cradled him against his chest. “Tell me what happened.”

“There was another one in the storage room,” Grantaire whispered. “I killed him, don’t worry.”

“And you’re sure you’re not hurt?” Enjolras asked, carding his fingers through his hair.

Grantaire nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Why did you go down there on your own?” Enjolras asked. He didn’t sound accusing, just worried. “I would have gone with you.”

“I wasn’t too happy with you.”

“I did apologise.”

“You know, apologising doesn’t always make things right.”

Enjolras sighed. “I understand. Still, I would-”

“I won’t go anywhere without you again,” Grantaire interrupted. “I promise.”

“Good,” Enjolras said. “Now come with me.”

He picked up his flashlight and his backpack and led Grantaire to the staff bathroom , where he rinsed off the blood with a bottle of water as best as he could, Grantaire remaining still all the while, holding the flashlight as Enjolras had instructed him to, trying not to lean into the touch of Enjolras’ slender fingers.

When he was done he slowly peeled off Grantaire’s shirt, which was soaked through with slowly drying blood, fingertips gently wandering down Grantaire’s chest. “We never really talked about what happened between us in that farmhouse,” Enjolras said quietly.

“I didn’t think you wanted to.” Grantaire gripped Enjolras by the hips and pulled him closer. “Do you now?”

Enjolras shook his head and bent down, his nose bumping against Grantaire’s. “Unless you do.”

“Not really,” Grantaire whispered and stole a kiss. “I think not talking about it works quite well.”

“I think we agree for once,” Enjolras answered and pulled him flush against him, kissing Grantaire until he felt dizzy and was out of breath. He eventually pulled away, but still held on to him firmly. “You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t,” Grantaire protested, although Enjolras was right. He’d need to rest for a couple of years at least to feel relatively normal again, but he didn’t want to stop kissing Enjolras either.

Enjolras brushed back his curls and dropped a kiss onto Grantaire’s forehead. “Yes, you do.”

Grantaire followed Enjolras back to the empty office and picked up his own stuff on the way, so he could pull on a clean shirt. He curled up on the sofa and half-heartedly wrapped his blanket around himself, watching as Enjolras sat back down at the desk and started fiddling with the radio again.

“Sleep,” Enjolras said pointedly, “I’ll wake you up if I get anything.”

“You should sleep, too,” Grantaire grumbled. He probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he liked it when Enjolras cuddled up next to him at night.

“Later. I want to try something first,” Enjolras mumbled and proceeded to push one of the heavy shelves in front of the window.

It was a definite sign for how exhausted Grantaire really was that he didn’t even think about getting up and helping him. “What’re you doing?”

“Making sure no one sees the light.” Enjolras turned on one of the camping lanterns they’d found downstairs. “I’d rather not fight off zombies in the dead of the night again. It’s a bit hard to kill them when you can’t actually see them.”

“Hm, good point,” Grantaire muttered, his eyes fluttering shut on their own accord.

“Good night, Grantaire.”

“Hmm.”


	7. Chapter 7

“We should find a place to stay the night.”

“But ‘Ferre…”

“I know you think you saw-”

“I don’t just _think_ I saw a light, I definitely saw a light.”

Combeferre sighed heavily. They’d had a horrible day. Jehan hadn’t spoken a single word in the last two hours, he’d just followed the both of them, his long blade drawn, looking absolutely miserable. Jehan was quiet in general, but Courfeyrac kept looking over his shoulder as if he was scared that Jehan would somehow vanish and wanted to make sure that he was still there.

They’d passed a group of zombies earlier, out in the open, the sun shining down on them, feasting on what looked like a dead horse. They’d tried to pass unnoticed, but they must have smelled them and had started chasing after them. It was mostly thanks to Jehan that they’d made it out alive.

Fearing that there might be others lurking somewhere close by, they’d moved on, but now the sun had set almost completely, and Combeferre was starting to feel more and more weary. And it wasn’t just because of all the fighting. He wanted Enjolras back. He needed Enjolras’ fervour and his strength as much as he needed Courfeyrac’s spirit and wit, which had both suffered quite a bit during the last couple of days.

They’d been attacked countless times, they’d run out of ammunition and now all they had to defend themselves were Jehan’s sword, a kitchen knife and a rusty dagger.

“Combeferre, please, let’s just go a little further, there might be other people out there.” Courfeyrac looked at Jehan, quietly asking for his support.

They got along well, all three of them, but Combeferre realised that Courfeyrac had taken a special liking in Jehan – really, he was positively enchanted with him – and Jehan, too, kept close to Courfeyrac, reaching for his hand every now and then, mostly after fights, and sometimes at night before he went to sleep, even though he was obviously still reluctant to do anything but that.

It was a little painful to watch at times, but not because Combeferre was jealous. He wanted Courfeyrac to be happy, it was just that he knew that something was about to happen between the two of them, and still they kept dancing around each other for reasons Combeferre couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Jehan sighed and considered Courfeyrac for a second, briefly glancing at Combeferre as well before he answered. “If you’re absolutely certain that you saw something, maybe we should take a look. I’m pretty sure zombies wouldn’t be able to turn on a flashlight, so there are probably people up there.”

“I am certain,” Courfeyrac said, nodding enthusiastically, “it was on the upper floor of that house up the hill.”

“Well, I suppose we could spend the night there either way,” Combeferre relented and started marching onward. Whatever Courfeyrac had seen, Combeferre was almost certain that it wasn’t what Courfeyrac thought and hoped it would be. It wasn’t Enjolras in that house.

Combeferre was always on the lookout for anyone resembling Enjolras, when they fought zombies he looked for blood-stained blond curls, but he never saw any, none of them ever looked like him, and Combeferre felt relief washing over him each and every time. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if they did find him amidst a group of zombies one day. All he could do was hope that it would never happen.

It wasn’t a good idea to even think about it at all, Combeferre was aware that he wouldn’t sleep at night if he did, so he let Jehan’s voice pull him back to reality.

“That’s a good idea,” Jehan said diplomatically. “I’m beat.”

“Would you like me to carry that for you for a bit?” Courfeyrac asked, fingers curling around the handle of Jehan’s sword. “It looks heavy.”

“If I weren’t scared that you’d accidentally poke your eyes out, I’d let you,” Jehan said, smiling sweetly. “Anyway, you’re already carrying two backpacks.”

Courfeyrac grumbled something Combeferre didn’t quite catch, then Courfeyrac hooked his arm through his. “Thank you,” he said lowly.

“Just don’t be too disappointed if it isn’t Enjolras,” Combeferre said. Courfeyrac had never been good at hiding his disappointment and Combeferre wasn’t sure if he could bear seeing Courfeyrac sad today.

“I didn’t think it was him,” Courfeyrac replied immediately. “Really,” he added when Combeferre shot him a doubtful glance.

Jehan was keeping very quiet again. He probably knew by now that talk of Enjolras was always a bit of a sensitive subject that neither of them liked bringing up.

Perhaps he also knew that what Courfeyrac had just said had obviously been a lie.

They quietly walked up to the house, all of them sweating and wheezing when they’d finally made it. They found the front door locked, but managed to make their way inside through the garage. They toppled over a dresser that had been pushed in front of the door, probably to keep out zombies who might have given up at the small resistance.

“Oh, there’s definitely someone here,” Courfeyrac whispered.

Combeferre nodded and drew his dagger. Just in case.

They didn’t find anyone downstairs. The kitchen was an utter mess and there was a fine layer of dust on most pieces of furniture. Eventually they made their way to the stairs, trying to be as silently as possible. Courfeyrac had seen a light in one of the rooms upstairs after all.

“Stop right there.” There was a young man standing at the top of the staircase, blinking down at them in the light of the flashlight Courfeyrac was holding, hair in complete disarray, glasses askew on his nose and a rifle in hand, hands trembling visibly. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice sounding shaky.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Combeferre said and let his knife clatter to the floor. It wasn’t like they stood a chance against a guy pointing a gun at them. Even though said guy didn’t seem to sure about how to handle a gun, he would certainly manage to hit one of them if he pulled the trigger. Combeferre gently nudged Jehan, who lowered his sword as well.

“What’s your name?” Courfeyrac asked and stepped forward. “I’m Courfeyrac, and those two are Combeferre and Jehan. And we’re all still alive, by the way. No need to kill us.”

“I’m Joly.” He lowered his weapon immediately. “Sorry about that.”

“No hard feelings,” Courfeyrac said. “Why don’t you… come join us?”

They ended up in the living room, all four of them squeezed onto one sofa, with Joly in the middle, perched between Jehan and Combeferre.

“Are you all by yourself?” Jehan asked, tentatively putting his hand on Joly’s back, but quickly withdrawing it when he flinched.

Joly nodded. “I was with two of my friends until two days ago. We ran from a bunch of zombies and we got separated. I tried to find them, but…” He trailed off and shrugged. “We promised we’d move on, no matter what, but I still had to try.”

“I’m so sorry you lost them,” Courfeyrac whispered, “we lost a friend, too.”  There were tears welling up in his eyes and all Combeferre wanted to do was hug him, but Jehan beat him to it.

“Was he turned?” Joly asked lowly.

“Well, not as far as we know,” Combeferre told him. “He was just gone one morning.”

Joly looked up. “Do you know if he’s immune?”

Combeferre frowned. “Immune to what?”

“The bites,” Joly said, looking a little confused all of a sudden. “I suppose they didn’t make that broadcast after all,” he mumbled to himself, then he turned to Combeferre again. “Some people are immune to the bites. I used to help out at a lab in Paris every now and then and we did some research before everything was shut down. We were told that the population would be notified immediately, but obviously that wasn’t the case.”

“Wait,” Courfeyrac said, “so you’re saying that some people don’t turn into zombies when they’re bitten?”

“Exactly,” Joly replied, nodding, “long story short, some people seem to have some sort of mutated gene that keeps the virus from turning them. It’s somewhat rare, I suspect that maybe one out of five or six people is immune. We were trying to develop a vaccine, but we didn’t have enough time. We did send our samples out, though, so they might have made progress elsewhere.”

“That’s fascinating,” Combeferre whispered. He would have loved to ask Joly more about that virus, but everyone around him looked like they were ready to fall asleep – in fact, Jehan was already leaning against Courfeyrac, eyes closed and murmuring in his sleep.

They moved him to the smaller side of the sofa and tucked a blanket around him, while Joly, looking absolutely exhausted, curled up on an armchair.

And it wasn’t until then, when Courfeyrac was curled up against Combeferre on the big sofa, head resting on his chest, that he whispered to him, “Maybe I thought that it might be Enjolras in here for about a second.”

Combeferre sighed and pulled him closer. “He’s still out there. I’m sure.”

“I hope he’s okay,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“I hope he’s not alone,” Combeferre whispered, gently ruffling Courfeyrac’s hair. “Now go to sleep.”

* * *

Enjolras spent a long while just staring at Grantaire, who was curled up into a ball on the tiny sofa, blanket slung around his middle and his feet sticking out, the radio Enjolras had been trying to get to work again completely forgotten.

Grantaire was fast asleep, brow furrowed the slightest bit, fingers clutching at the blanket tightly. It almost looked like he was having a bad dream, which wouldn’t have been surprising, given the day they’d had. Enjolras really shouldn’t have let him go anywhere all by himself, not because Grantaire couldn’t take care of himself, he was usually quite capable of doing so, it was just that he’d been terribly exhausted and not in the shape to fight anyone or anything.

He walked over to him, wondering if he should wake him up, because he was looking more and more distressed by the minute, but he only ended up tugging the blanket over his feet and refraining from running his fingers through Grantaire’s shaggy curls. He’d told Grantaire he’d go to sleep as well in a bit, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to, he still felt guilty for letting Pony die, for being selfish enough to hold Grantaire back, but he couldn’t lose him.

Enjolras didn’t know what exactly Grantaire was to him, all he knew was that he liked having him by his side, regardless of their differences, and he needed to make sure that he stayed with him.

He tore his gaze away from Grantaire and switched on the radio again. It was pretty old, but at least it was running on batteries. Enjolras had tried to find a station earlier, any station, just to find out what was going on and if the rest of the world was doing better than them. So far he’d been unsuccessful, so he kept searching, getting nothing but noise and the recorded emergency broadcast that hadn’t changed in weeks, advising every citizen to stay away from infected individuals, to be on the lookout for evacuation teams, to go east – nothing that was helpful in the slightest.

By the time he eventually gave in it was the middle of the night and his eyes were burning with tiredness. He took the batteries out of the radio – they might need those for something else at some point – and put them into one their backpacks.

Then Enjolras made sure the door was locked and considered Grantaire and the sofa for a second. There certainly wasn’t enough room for both of them, but Enjolras wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around Grantaire right now.

Enjolras sat down on the floor next to the sofa instead, switched off the camping lantern, and drifted into a restless sleep almost immediately.

When he woke up again, he was up on the sofa, the shelf had been pushed aside just a little to let in some of early morning sun, and Grantaire was sitting behind the desk, munching cornflakes straight out of the box.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he cooed when Enjolras sat up, blinking at him in confusion.

“How did I get up here?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “How do you think?”

“Thank you,” Enjolras mumbled, wondering how on earth he hadn’t noticed that Grantaire had lifted him onto the sofa.

“Any luck with the radio?”

Enjolras shook his head.

“Want some?” Grantaire asked, holding up his cereal.

Once again, he only shook his head. He took a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about yesterday,” Enjolras said. He felt like he needed to apologise again and again, he needed Grantaire to understand. He needed Grantaire not to be cross with him. “About Pony.”

Grantaire sighed and set the box down on the table. “I get why you wouldn’t let me go. I really do.”

“Good,” Enjolras said quietly, not sure if that was the end of it or not. They sat in silence for a while until Enjolras couldn’t take it any longer. “What now?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Grantaire muttered. “I guess we’ll just have to walk. Or maybe we can take one of the cars outside. If they’ll still start.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go anywhere anymore.”

Enjolras bit his lip. “Come here,” he said, holding out a hand. Grantaire did, reluctantly, carefully keeping his distance, but took Enjolras’ hand eventually and slumped against him willingly when he pulled him closer. Enjolras wasn’t good at comforting people, but Grantaire seemed to be fine with Enjolras’ arms wrapped around him for now. “We’ll get out of here somehow,” Enjolras said, nudging Grantaire with his nose, “and we’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“You’re lying to me,” Grantaire whispered against his neck. “Or maybe you’re not, maybe you actually believe that we we’ll make it out of this alive.”

“I do,” Enjolras said. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. Fact is, wherever you go, I go.” Grantaire nipped at the skin of Enjolras’ neck, followed by a trail of kisses. “So if you make it out of this mess,” he continued, stubble scratching Enjolras’ skin, “I’ll make it out of this mess.”

Enjolras hummed, which really was the only thing he felt capable of doing, because Grantaire had grabbed him by the hips and pulled him into a horizontal position, had swiftly pushed his shirt out of the way and was now planting open-mouthed kisses across the plane of Enjolras’ flat stomach.

Enjolras’ fingers immediately wandered into Grantaire’s hair and he moaned lowly when Grantaire started kissing his way down, down, down, until Enjolras was squirming and tugged at his hair hard enough to make him look up.

“Did you want something?” Grantaire asked with a wink and sat up to straddle his hips. He pushed Enjolras’ shirt up a bit further, looking down at him almost fondly. “Your bruises look better.”

Enjolras nodded. He hardly even felt them anymore, although he was pretty sure that he had new bruises forming all over his body after their fight with the zombies yesterday. But those things were easy to forget when Grantaire was on top him, rocking his hips ever so slightly, making Enjolras push upwards for more.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whined, actually whined, because Grantaire was just so damn frustrating, and Enjolras loved it so, so much. He knew they should get going, make use of the daylight, although that didn’t really seem to keep the zombies in check anymore, so maybe it was alright to linger.

“We’re going to make a fucking mess, you know that, right?” Grantaire mumbled as he bent down again, mouth latching onto one of Enjolras’ nipples, alternating between bites and kisses, hips rhythmically grinding down against Enjolras.

Enjolras let his head fall back, reminding himself to breathe, because Grantaire already seemed to occupy every space in his head, making him forget where he was and why he was here. “I don’t care,” he whispered, “just don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

They did make a mess, but Enjolras found that he didn’t regret coming in his pants like a teenager, he didn’t care that he’d ruined a perfectly good pair of jeans that he’d probably just leave here, he didn’t care about all the things he felt for Grantaire, things he couldn’t even name, all he cared about was that Grantaire was there, still on top of him, breathing raggedly, his hair a beautiful mess, planting lazy kisses on every patch of skin he could reach without moving too much.

“How do you do it?” Enjolras mumbled, still a little out of it, not sure if he was even making sense.

Grantaire chuckled softly. “What?”

“You make me forget about everything, how do you do that?”

“’s a gift,” Grantaire muttered. His eyelashes fluttered against Enjolras’ skin when he closed his eyes.

Enjolras nudged him gently. “Don’t sleep.”

“Just a quick nap.”

“Grantaire…”

“Stop it with the commanding voice, that doesn’t work on me.”

Enjolras huffed. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Excuse me, but you were the one begging me not to stop.” Grantaire quickly kissed his jaw, then he slowly crawled off Enjolras.

They both cleaned themselves up as best as they could, Grantaire took the opportunity to shave, and Enjolras might have been a little sad to see the scruff go, whilst Enjolras decided to forego breakfast, even though Grantaire was still protesting when they’d made it down to the parking lot.

Grantaire stopped then, looking at the cars that had been left there, then his eyes fell onto a motorbike, which he walked up to, looking rather determined.

Enjolras followed him, arms crossed. “Absolutely not,” he said sternly. Grantaire would get them both killed. “Do you even know how to drive this thing?”

“As a matter of fact I do, I took my own to get out of Paris. Didn’t work too well, though, you know what the streets are like, you can’t really go fast, your fuel gets stolen, all that crap,” Grantaire said. It didn’t take him long to hotwire the motorbike, Enjolras looking on, not sure if he was terrified or fascinated.

 “Are you actually a criminal?” Enjolras deadpanned.

Grantaire snorted. “I probably would make a good one,” he said with a smirk and got onto the bike. “Hop on.”

Enjolras did, but reluctantly. They managed to accommodate their three backpacks, then they were off, Enjolras holding on to Grantaire for dear life.


	8. Chapter 8

Grantaire felt happy to be on the road again, going as fast as he dared with Enjolras clinging to him, quite obviously scared to death, watching out for zombies. Every little bump hurt and Grantaire was pretty sure that Enjolras couldn’t be feeling much better.

All Grantaire wanted was a nice meal, a glass of wine, and a hot shower and huge bed with a soft mattress and clean sheets, Enjolras next to him, without a care in the world.

They hadn’t made it far when they had to get off so Grantaire could push their new motorbike past an abandoned, burnt-out car that had been left in the middle of the street between smashed shop fronts. It was a ghost town, really.

There were no people, neither dead nor alive, there were no stray dogs, no birds singing in the trees, no sound other than their footsteps, the wheels of the motorbike crushing litter and shards of glass.

“This is creepy as fuck,” Grantaire whispered, looking around at Enjolras, who seemed to be lost in thought, face turned up to the clear blue sky, sun illuminating his blond curls. He looked radiant, a little unreal amidst the rubble, a splotch of colour surrounded by grey.

Enjolras sighed, averting his gaze, eyes darting back to where Grantaire was standing, still staring at him.

“Everything okay?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded and walked towards him, smiling sadly. “I was just wondering what Combeferre and Courfeyrac are doing.”

Grantaire bit his lip, not sure what to say. He knew Enjolras missed his friends and every time he mentioned them Grantaire felt like he should do something to cheer him up, but he knew that nothing he said would make things better. There was nothing he could do except to keep his eyes open and hope that they’d just run into them someday.

It must be terrible for Enjolras, knowing they were out there somewhere, maybe just a mile away, or maybe dead already.

Grantaire only reached out to give Enjolras’ hand a quick squeeze. Enjolras would understand.

They drove onwards then, left the small town behind, passed through another one, just as deserted, until they reached a broken down bridge, cutting off the rest of the village, which was where they both got off the motorbike, Enjolras’ legs trembling visibly.

“Sit down,” Grantaire said, trying not to look too amused, and pushed Enjolras to the side of the road, where he sat down in the shade.

Grantaire walked straight to the water’s edge, inspecting the river. There was no way to get across with the motorbike and without drenching everything they owned and there didn’t seem to be another bridge anywhere close by.

He returned to Enjolras and sat down next to him, sighing wearily.

“What’s the verdict?” Enjolras asked.

“We can’t cross here if we don’t want to lose the bike,” Grantaire replied, scratching his cheek. “We can try going north or south along the river for a bit and see if we can find another bridge.”

“I wouldn’t mind losing the bike,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire chuckled. “Why are you so scared anyway?”

“Aren’t you supposed to wear a helmet and all that when you drive a motorbike? I mean, how do you even keep it upright, it’s a giant metal contraption, it’s going to fall over at some point.”

“Do you really think I’d let us fall over?”

“It’s not like you can do much about it.”

“I can,” Grantaire said. “You’re completely safe with me, I promise. Trust me, yeah?”

“I do trust you,” Enjolras said firmly.

Grantaire tried to ignore the flutter in his stomach, but didn’t quite manage and ended up grinning at the ground, because he didn’t quite trust himself to look at Enjolras.

“Should we keep going, then?” Enjolras asked eventually.

Grantaire nodded. “North or south?”

“South,” Enjolras said decidedly, got up and pulled Grantaire to his feet.

They followed the river, looking for shallow parts but not finding any, then came across another destroyed bridge, then another one. There were more and more abandoned cars and Grantaire was having trouble to navigate past them, but kept going until the engine started to stutter and they came to a sudden halt.

“What happened?” Enjolras asked as he climbed off, stretching as he did.

“I’m not sure.” Grantaire tried to start it again, but he just wasn’t that lucky and got nothing except for spluttering noises. It wasn’t the fuel, although they were running low, but he knew that whatever it was, he didn’t have the tools to fix it. “Shit,” he whispered, “shit, shit, _shit_.” He kicked at one of the tyres, hard enough to make his foot sting painfully, cursing until Enjolras pulled him away.

“Calm down,” Enjolras said, gently rubbing his arm. “Take a deep breath.”

“Enjolras, we’re fucking stuck here, I really don’t feel like taking a deep breath.”

“Grantaire…”

“We’ve gone too far south and there’s no way to get back, we’ll have to walk all the way, there aren’t any towns here, nothing, it’s going to take us forever.”

“Freaking out won’t do us any good, though.” Enjolras hugged him tightly. “Breathe.”

Grantaire closed his eyes and did as Enjolras had instructed, matching his breathing to Enjolras’.

“Okay, that’s it,” Enjolras mumbled. “We’ll figure this out.”

Grantaire nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed already. “Maybe we can… eat a little something. And then try to… I don’t know, just try to cross somehow. Let’s just swim across for all I care.”

Enjolras got something to eat for Grantaire, although he didn’t seem to feel like eating much himself. Grantaire sullenly stared at the river, pondering. They didn’t have too many options. They could swim across, as he’d already suggested. The river wasn’t too wild, but it would ruin most of their stuff. They could walk further south and hope they’d find a more shallow spot or hope to come across a bridge after all, but it did seem that they’d all been destroyed, quite possibly by the military, to try to keep zombies from crossing. 

There were dozens of cars, left behind right in front of the bridge. There seemed to be a village in the distance, too, but Grantaire could hardly make it out. They had nowhere to go.

“Does that branch over there reach all the way across the river?” Enjolras asked all of a sudden.

Grantaire’s head snapped up. “Which one?”

Enjolras pointed at a tree, not too far from where they were sitting. It did look like it went almost all the way across, and it was a thick branch, but not thick enough to support their weight all the way. However… “I could climb up there, take our backpacks and throw them across. Then we can swim.”

That way their stuff would stay dry, which really was the most important thing.

Enjolras nodded. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They packed up their belongings and Grantaire climbed up the tree with only little difficulty.

The first backpack landed dangerously close to the river, but he did much better with the second one. On his way back to get the last one he almost slipped and fell down into the water, but managed to catch himself and get the third bag from Enjolras, who then proceeded to swim across and emerged on the other side, dripping wet, but smiling, catching the backpack that Grantaire threw him.

Too late Grantaire realised that there was something moving behind of the trees behind Enjolras – two figures that plunged out of the shade and started moving swiftly towards Enjolras.

“Enjolras, behind you,” Grantaire shouted, and let himself fall, knowing he had to get to him, water splashing as he landed, quickly paddling to the other side, where Enjolras had already beheaded one zombie and was now making quick work of the other one.

Enjolras was vicious, merciless even – he didn’t look like he was capable of something like this. Of killing. And of course Enjolras didn’t like that he had to kill those poor people who had been turned, Grantaire knew that, but it kept surprising him all the same.

When Grantaire emerged from the water, panting, there was no danger from them anymore and Enjolras quickly pulled him to his side, holding on for a minute or two.

“You’re okay,” Grantaire said. His heart was beating way too fast.

“I am,” Enjolras confirmed. “So are you.”

Grantaire nodded. “Yeah.” Except that he wasn’t. None of this was okay. He just wanted all of this to end.

* * *

“Oh my god, I want to sleep forever,” Courfeyrac grumbled. He knew he should stop complaining, but he just couldn’t not complain at the moment.

Joly had decided to come with them for now, since he didn’t really know what else to do, and he seemed to get along with Combeferre really well, discussing that godforsaken zombie virus, talking about DNA and genes and vaccines. Courfeyrac only understood half of what they were saying, but it definitely sounded a little scary.

They’d left the house early in the morning, but now it was way past noon and the sun was burning down on them relentlessly. They’d decided not to walk through the forest, even though there were four of them – they didn’t know what was out there and it was easier to see if something was coming for them when they walked over fields.

Courfeyrac was exhausted and hungry and he was trying to ignore it, really, he had to, especially when Joly stopped dead all of a sudden and whispered, “Are you guys seeing that?”

There were people in the distance, walking slowly, some of them hunched over, but they were too far away for them to see whether or not they were human.

“Are they alive or…”

“I’m not sure,” Combeferre mumbled and ushered them all to the side of the narrow dirt road they’d been walking along for a while.

They hid behind some bushes there, waiting for them to approach.

The closer those figures came, the clearer it was that they definitely weren’t human. They were all drenched in blood, a swarm of flies following them, and they were grunting loudly, obviously affected by the afternoon sun as well.

Courfeyrac was sure that his breathing was unacceptably loud and that it would give them away. He just hated this, he didn’t want to kill. He hadn’t chosen this and he wanted no part of it. He needed to do it, though, because he wanted Combeferre to be safe and he wanted Jehan to be safe, and Joly as well and everyone else who might end up coming across those zombies if they didn’t kill them right here and now.

They waited until Combeferre gave them a sign to draw their weapons, then he signalled them to attack.

It was always a blur of red, trying not to get to close, trying to make quick work, trying to stay alive. He barely realised that Jehan was on the ground, struggling to fight off the zombie that was coming at him, kicking and cursing. Courfeyrac quickly turned around to see if Combeferre and Joly were okay, satisfied when he saw them still fighting but not in mortal danger, and ran to help Jehan.

It was amazing how much damage a simple kitchen knife could do, but he had Jehan out of danger in no time. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Jehan nodded. “I fell. Stupid of me.”

Combeferre and Joly joined them seconds later, both of them breathless and a little shaken, but still alive, and that was all that mattered in the end.

“What’s wrong?” Joly asked and bent down to examine Jehan, who didn’t look too happy and tried to bat his hand away. “Did one of them bite you?”

“No, I really just stumbled,” he said and got up, swaying a little. “I might have twisted my ankle a little.”

Courfeyrac slung an arm around him in an attempt to steady him and Jehan sagged against him with a sigh. “Maybe you should sit down again.”

“Yeah, sit down, let me take a look,” Joly said and produced a first aid kit from his bag.

He and Combeferre quickly bandaged Jehan’s ankle, shooting each other looks that Courfeyrac wasn’t quite able to interpret. “What’s wrong?” he asked eventually.

“He shouldn’t put weight on his ankle right now,” Combeferre explained, “because, first of all, it’ll be painful, and second of all, it’s not going to help the healing process.”

Jehan shook his head. “I can walk. Maybe not as fast as before, but I’ll manage.”

It became clear quickly that Jehan really could not manage. He tried, but Courfeyrac could see him wince with every step he took, so he finally just picked him up, despite Jehan’s protests and carried him as far as he could until they had to switch and Combeferre took over. Luckily Jehan wasn’t heavy – he was even skinnier than Enjolras – so they didn't have much trouble.

They eventually made it to a river that had proven rather hard to cross, since there hadn’t been any intact bridges left, but after walking along the river for a while, they’d come across a boat with which they’d managed to cross. Now they were headed back south and on their way to a town in the distance.

Jehan wasn’t happy with himself, Courfeyrac could tell, and even though it obviously wasn’t his fault, he was beating himself up because he was slowing them down.

“Look, we’ll be fine,” Combeferre said later on when they were sitting around a slowly dying campfire, “maybe we should try to find a car or anything that makes it easier for us to transport you, but please don’t worry about it, you’re not a burden.”

“But I am,” Jehan said, his bottom lip quivering. “We could have made it so much further today.”

Combeferre shot Courfeyrac a pointed glance. When Combeferre’s words failed, it was his turn. Courfeyrac wrapped an arm around Jehan and pulled him against his chest. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Jehan whispered. His voice was so quiet, Courfeyrac was sure that Combeferre and Joly hadn’t even heard.

“Yes, it is,” Courfeyrac whispered back. “It’s not like we’re just going to leave you here.”

Jehan sniffled and burrowed against him and Courfeyrac hugged him tightly, pointedly ignoring the way Combeferre, and even Joly, who’d only been with them for a day, were grinning at him.

* * *

“We’re still too far south,” Grantaire grumbled. They were trudging along the river, the late afternoon sun still shining down on them.

“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Enjolras hissed. It seemed that they’d have to spend the night out in the open and he really wasn’t all too happy about it. He was feeling moody and Grantaire was the only here he could take it out on.

There were a few houses in the distance along the river, those that belonged to the town they’d passed through earlier, disconnected by the destroyed bridge. They probably wouldn’t make it there, not after Grantaire had just laid down after their latest fight, refusing to go on.

Enjolras had been furious, had tried shouting at first, but had soon realised that it wouldn’t do any good.

“Just fucking go if you want to go,” Grantaire had snapped. “I’m tired, Enjolras, I’m just so fucking tired, just let me rest for a bit.”

A little taken aback at that, Enjolras had sat down next to him and had taken his hand. He had no idea how long they’d sat there, and at some point Enjolras had stopped caring that they were wasting precious time.

Grantaire had pillowed his head in Enjolras’ lap and so they’d taken a break, just for a while, listening to the sound of the river rushing past.

“Sorry, seems like I’m having a bad day,” Grantaire had mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Enjolras had only hummed and had started carding his fingers through Grantaire’s hair. “Sorry I yelled earlier. I just keep thinking that we might come across Combeferre and Courfeyrac.”

Grantaire’s eyes had flown open then.

“Before you say anything,” Enjolras had continued, “I know that’s an irrational thought, my best chance is to find them once we’ve crossed the border, but I still can’t stop looking for them.”

“I understand,” Grantaire had said and had sat up. “I wish we had a car. And roads that aren’t blocked and damaged beyond repair. We’d be out of here in no time.”

Enjolras had silently agreed. It had taken Grantaire another ten minutes or so until he’d got up, making a face at his unevenly dried clothes and then they’d walked on, neither of them speaking for a long while.

“You’re angry with me, huh?” Grantaire muttered. “I am sorry. I’m just…”

“Tired,” Enjolras finished. “I know. So am I. And I’m not angry, I swear.”

If he was honest with himself, he’d needed some rest, too. Even though he’d got some sleep last night, even though they hadn’t spent the better part of the day walking, being on the run was still taking its toll.

Enjolras felt drained. It was hard to relax when you had to expect a zombie attack at any given moment. He was always alert. Always expecting the worst.

They ended up spending the night in a small shack that stood hidden between the trees next to the riverbank.

Grantaire offered to the take the first watch and Enjolras didn’t utter a word of complaint.


	9. Chapter 9

“This is ridiculous,” Jehan mumbled, his cheeks reddening as he climbed into the shopping trolley Courfeyrac had _borrowed_ from a supermarket. It wasn’t like anyone was going to need it and he’d killed two zombies to get it, too.

Courfeyrac had carried Jehan on his back as far as the next town and Jehan had seemed incredibly grateful, although he’d at first insisted that he could walk and that he didn’t want to be a burden. He’d given in after less than half a mile.

“It’s not ideal,” Combeferre mused, “but it should work just fine as long as we stay on the road.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what’s a bad idea here,” Joly chimed in, looking around nervously. “It’s really loud, someone’s going to hear us. And by _someone_ I mean dead people who want to eat us.”

“Well, he can’t walk,” Courfeyrac said, maybe a little too loudly.

Combeferre shot him a warning glance. “We know that. It’ll be fine. If someone hears us, we’ll deal with it, just like we dealt with all the others.”

“Guys,” Jehan piped up, “I’m here and I can hear you. And you’re probably right, Joly, this is going to get us in trouble. I’ll walk, it’s okay.”

He was just about to climb back out when Joly gently pushed him down again. “No, you shouldn’t be walking.” He still looked mildly anxious, but he was smiling at Jehan. “Just stay right there.”

Jehan let out a sigh of relief – or at least Courfeyrac guessed that it was relief.

“Should we check for food inside?” Joly asked, eyeing the smashed windows of the small supermarket.

Courfeyrac had to admit that it didn’t look all too inviting and he didn’t even want to think about what might be lurking inside.

“Let’s take a look,” Combeferre said. “Jehan, may I borrow your sword?”

Jehan wordlessly handed it to him.

“Someone should stay with Jehan,” Joly said, looking at Courfeyrac. “You stay, I’ll go with Combeferre.”

The two of them stalked off, slowly, Joly one step behind Combeferre, peering over his shoulder as they walked inside, broken glass crunching under the soles of their shoes.

Courfeyrac turned to Jehan, who was looking after them with a worried expression. “They’ll be okay.”

“I’d still feel better if I could go with them,” Jehan mumbled.

Courfeyrac nodded. He understood. He should have gone with Enjolras, too. “How is your foot?” he asked to distract himself from the fact that he suddenly wanted to run after Combeferre.

“It’s fine as long as I don’t put weight on it,” Jehan muttered, biting his lip. “I feel so useless.”

Courfeyrac reached out to take Jehan’s hand to offer at least some kind of comfort, when they heard Joly shout, “Look out!” followed by loud cursing and a crash. Before Courfeyrac could decide whether to run inside to help Joly and Combeferre or to stay with Jehan to make sure nothing happened to him, Combeferre called, “We’re fine, stay put.”

Courfeyrac let out the breath he’d been holding and leaned against the shopping trolley, gripping the handle tightly to keep his fingers from trembling. He was worried sick. He needed Combeferre to be okay and he needed Enjolras to be okay, he wanted to get out of here, together with everyone else, but there was no way out, and the longer they stayed the more likely it was that one of them would end up getting killed. Too many people he cared about had died already.

Jehan lightly touched his arm and leaned closer, resting his forehead against Courfeyrac’s chest.

That was how Combeferre and Joly found them, neither of them looking particularly surprised to find them like this.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat and pulled away. “Did you, um… find anything?”

“Only one zombie, but nothing else except for that,” Joly said, frowning down at the bloody blade of Jehan’s sword that Combeferre was still holding.

“We should move on,” Combeferre said, glancing up at the sky, “it looks like it might rain soon and I honestly don’t want to stick around here.”

They dumped some of their bags into the shopping trolley, which actually was a huge relief, since Courfeyrac was still carrying around Enjolras’ backpack along with his own, and walked on. When they’d left the town behind them, Jehan turned around to look at Courfeyrac, smiling broadly. “You know, I actually do enjoy this a lot.”

Courfeyrac laughed and sped up his steps until he was running and jumped onto the trolley too, squealing when they rolled down the road. He jumped off before they steered right into the ditch on the roadside, looking back at Combeferre and Joly, who were slowly catching up with them.

Combeferre was wearing a fond smile, one that Courfeyrac hadn’t see in a long time and that he hadn’t even realised he’d been missing so much.

* * *

She heard them before she saw them.

She unpacked her binoculars and waited for them to appear. There were four of them coming down the road and she’d never seen them before. One of them was sitting in a shopping trolley, probably hurt, but apparently not seriously so. He just didn’t seem to be able to walk. Another guy was pushing the trolley, which made a great deal of noise, two others were walking behind them.

It really was hard to miss them. She was certain that if she hadn’t just killed about a dozen of zombies, they’d already be surrounded.

Actually she was on a supply run, but she’d got sidetracked and would return to her friends with less than she usually brought home.

Maybe she’d just bring more people instead of food this time.

She put down her binoculars and drew an arrow. Just in case. Zombies weren’t the only bad things out there, especially not around here. They ran into problems with fellow survivors just as often as they ran into problems with the undead.

She crouched down behind a bush at the roadside, then she waited for them as they slowly approached.

* * *

Grantaire woke up not feeling as well-rested as he had hoped. He blinked slowly, eyes immediately falling on Enjolras, who was supposed to be watching out for zombies, but was quite obviously fast asleep.

Grantaire had woke him up in the middle of the night to tell him that it was his turn to take the watch, knowing Enjolras would give him shit in the morning if he didn’t. Enjolras, however, had still looked about ready to murder him, but had eventually sat up and Grantaire had curled up next to him on the floor.

Now Enjolras was still leaning back against the wall, had only slumped down a little bit, his hand resting on Grantaire’s chest, mouth opened just the slightest bit. Grantaire wanted to kiss him. Then again, whenever did he _not_ want to kiss him.

Grantaire shifted slightly and covered Enjolras’ hand with his.

Enjolras hardly even stirred, but let out a content sigh. Now Grantaire wanted to kiss him even more. He really needed to get this under control.

 Grantaire stayed very still, though, not wanting to wake him, listening as raindrops started patting on the roof of their shelter, and concentrated on the rustling of the leaves of the trees outside as the wind picked up.

It was oddly peaceful, given the situation they were in, given the fact that someone could have walked in here and killed them while they’d been sleeping. Grantaire didn’t blame Enjolras, he knew how hard it was to stay up for hours with no one to keep you company, he knew how tired you got and how your eyes just started fluttering shut on their own accord at some point.

Enjolras mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, then he suddenly jerked upright and groaned. “Fuck, I fell asleep.”

“Don’t worry, we’re still alive,” Grantaire mumbled, smiling up at him.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I could have got both of us killed.”

“Enjolras, don’t worry,” Grantaire said again, squeezing his hand. He sat up and kissed Enjolras’ knuckles. “Nothing happened to us.”

Enjolras sighed. “I should have stayed awake.”

Grantaire nudged him gently until Enjolras wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Just let it go.”

Enjolras made a displeased noise, but didn’t say anything else about it, just tilted his head so it was resting against Grantaire’s. “It’s raining,” he whispered.

Grantaire hummed a confirmation. “Do you want to wait till it lets off?”

“Yeah, I don’t really feel like getting drenched again.”

“Understandable,” Grantaire muttered. He wondered if he should move, because this really came a little too close to cuddling, this wasn’t borne from a need for distraction. This was different and entirely too pleasant.

Grantaire sat up a little straighter and eventually stood up. “I’ll just… step outside for a second,” he mumbled. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Enjolras only smiled in response.

Grantaire stumbled outside, shivering a little, trying not to think too much about Enjolras but about what kind of stupid death it would be if a zombie tried to eat him while he was pissing into a river.

When he went back inside he found Enjolras right where he’d left him, now wearing the red hoodie Grantaire had stolen for him. Grantaire shook his hair, droplets of water flying everywhere as he did, and Enjolras frowned. But at least it wasn’t his _I’m pissed off and I’ll probably yell at you in a few seconds_ frown.

Grantaire sat back down next to him, making sure to leave a safe distance between them. Enjolras, however, seemed to mind and scooted closer.

“You could have just said that you wanted a hug,” Grantaire said jokingly and pulled Enjolras against him. He couldn’t not joke about this right now, because if he seriously thought about it, he’d probably end up running away screaming.

“It’s cold,” Enjolras muttered defensively.

“Right,” Grantaire said and picked up the blanket he’d curled up under the night before, wrapping it around the both of them. “Better?”

“Much better.” Enjolras fell silent, fiddling with the hem of the blanket, pondering silently.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” Grantaire mused.

Enjolras smiled. “I was just wondering, do you think we would have been…” He paused. “Do you think we would have been friends? If we’d met back in Paris?”

“God, no, you would have hated me.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re too fond of me now, so why would you have liked me then?”

“I do admit that you’re sometimes being unnecessarily difficult.”

“Exactly. And so are you, just for the record. Anyway, I was always drinking too much and starting fights and fucking around and… you know, I was just good for nothing, just like my father had predicted. You probably wouldn’t have deemed me worthy to dwell in your presence.”

Enjolras snorted. “I bet Courfeyrac would have loved you.”

“What about your other friend?” Grantaire asked, trying to remember his name. “Combeferre?”

“He would have liked you, too, I’m sure. You’re quite alright when you’re not being annoying.”

“Oh, Enjolras, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Grantaire whispered and lightly poked Enjolras.

“Shut up,” Enjolras grumbled. “I wish you could have met them.”

Grantaire bit his lip. “Maybe I will.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras echoed.

“How did you meet them?”

“I’ve basically known them all my life,” Enjolras said quietly, “they’re my family.”

Grantaire nodded. “What about your parents?”

“They were never really good at,” Enjolras paused, laughing lightly, “parenting. You know, they were conservative, too caught up in their social circles, put work above everything else. I had a nanny and I guess she knew me better than they did, I still called her every now and then after I’d gone to Paris, but she died two years ago. I went home for her funeral. Haven’t seen or heard from my parents since.”

“So you don’t know what happened to them?”

“No, and I’m not sure if I want to,” Enjolras said slowly. “What about your family?”

“Well, I haven’t seen my dad since I was thirteen. He just didn’t come home from work one day, took all our money and never came back. My mum got married again and that guy wasn’t much better than my dad, but at least he didn’t hit me when he was drunk. My sister ran away when she was sixteen and I haven’t heard from her since. Mum was devastated, so I stayed until I turned eighteen. Guess my parents weren’t good at parenting either.”

“I’m sorry, that sounds-”

“Awful, I know,” Grantaire cut him off. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, and he didn’t want it either. “I was okay. Most of the time.”

“Sorry I brought this up,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Actually it was me who brought it up,” Grantaire reminded him. He looked around the empty shack, trying to think of something else to talk about. His rumbling stomach helped him out. “Do you think we have enough supplies for breakfast?”

Enjolras chuckled and started rummaging through their supply bag to find something for them to eat. They had a meagre breakfast, waited until the rain had turned into a light drizzle, then they packed up their belongings and set out, walking towards town.

* * *

They’d taken shelter from the rain in the shadow of a tree. They’d left their shopping trolley at the side of the road, agreeing that there probably wouldn’t be anyone who’d steal it from them. Courfeyrac had lifted Jehan off his feet and carried him over, then Joly had produced a small canvas cover from his bag with a smug smile.

It wasn’t really big enough for all of them, so they’d huddled together, waiting for the rain to stop. The tree protected them from the worst of it anyway; Joly’s canvas did the rest.

“Ew, it’s dripping on me,” Courfeyrac grumbled and shook his arm.

Combeferre looked over at him, smiling. At first Courfeyrac had insisted Jehan take the spot in the middle next to Combeferre, but now he didn’t seem to be too happy about his good deeds anymore.

“Poor baby,” Jehan whispered, sounding like he was about to burst out laughing, but put an arm around him anyway.

Courfeyrac all of a sudden didn’t look like a sad puppy anymore. “You’re my favourite person,” he said, and Jehan giggled.

Joly laughed. “Get a room,” he said dryly.

Courfeyrac laughed nervously and Jehan let out an undignified whine. When Combeferre looked over at them, he saw that Jehan’s face was flaming red and Courfeyrac looked a little embarrassed as well, but only a little – Courfeyrac hardly ever got embarrassed, so it was somewhat amusing to watch.

In all the years he’d known Courfeyrac, he’d caught him doing much worse things, well, probably not _worse_ , per se, but things that would have given him good reasons for feeling embarrassed. Courfeyrac had never even bat an eye, though.

“I think it’s letting off,” Joly mumbled after a while, “we should be good to set out again in a bit.”

They did, tied the dripping canvas to their shopping trolley and walked off, rattling down the road.

* * *

She heard when they set out again from where she was hiding, sheltered from the rain that had almost ceased by now.

She gripped her bow and arrow, waiting for the right moment to strike. She didn’t want to scare them, but they needed to understand that they wouldn’t stand a chance against her, should they choose to attack. Of course she was hilariously outnumbered, but she could easily deal with four boys.

And maybe one of them was the one she was supposed to keep an eye out for.

She waited until they’d approached, keeping silent and still, then she stepped out of the shadows and onto the road.


	10. Chapter 10

“Who is that?” Courfeyrac said, stopping dead in the middle of the road, the shopping trolley, and consequently Jehan, stopped with him. There was a girl standing in the middle of the road, clad all in black, blonde hair sticking out from under a cap, carrying a backpack and a quiver full of arrows.

Combeferre and Joly, too, came to a halt. “I don’t know,” Combeferre whispered, grabbing for Jehan’s blade, but now drawing it.

“Why is she pointing an arrow at us?” Courfeyrac asked. He didn’t like this, not at all. He should be used to mortal danger by now, but actual people wanting to kill them was actually an entirely new concept.

The girl rolled her eyes and stepped closer. “I can hear you, you know that, right?”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not a zombie, right?” Courfeyrac said, pointing at her. “Because we’re not zombies either. So maybe we shouldn’t… kill each other.”

She smiled and lowered her arrow, but only a bit. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Did you hear that, ‘Ferre, she called me reasonable.”

Combeferre sighed. “What’s your name?” he asked the girl.

“I’m called Cosette,” she said, eyeing them as if she was trying to figure out if she’d seen one of them before. “Is one of you called Joly by any chance?”

“That’s me,” Joly said slowly, taking a step forward. “How do you know my name?”

“I know two people who are looking for you,” she said, smiling gently. “They’re at our house.”

“Bossuet and Musichetta are with you?” Joly asked, looking like he was about to burst into tears.

Cosette nodded. “Safe and sound.”

Joly laughed happily and crossed the distance between them to hug Cosette. “Thank you so much.”

She lowered her arrow and hugged him back. “Oh, they came to us, and we’d never turn anyone away.”

“Who’s _us_?” Combeferre asked. He sounded suspicious and Courfeyrac really couldn’t blame him. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

Jehan seemed to be a little wary as well. “Good question.”

“Well, we’re staying at this old country mansion not too far from here. There’s only a few of us at the moment, because we lost some people…” She paused, looking sad all of a sudden, but she shook it off quickly. “Anyway, we’re going to try to move at some point, but we don’t really have a game plan yet. I suppose you know how hard it is to stay undetected as a large group.”

“And that house is safe?” Joly asked.

Courfeyrac was sure he knew what Joly was playing at. He’d obviously go with her, since he’d be reunited with his friends then, but they could all go. They’d all be safe, at least for a little while.

“Well, we have a big fence and obviously someone has to keep watch at night, especially because we don’t have a gate, but it’s as safe as it gets these days.”

Courfeyrac looked over at Combeferre and Jehan. “We could go with them,” he whispered. “What do you guys think?”

“I wouldn’t object to sleeping in a bed for a couple of days,” Jehan mumbled.

“Your friends won’t mind if we join you for a while?” Combeferre asked Cosette.

“We might have to go out on another supply run soon, but I’m sure they’ll be glad to have other people there to take the night watch.” She smiled kindly. “We better go. Looks like it’s going to rain again.”

They walked off, Cosette and Joly in front of them, chatting about the other people staying with them and about Bossuet and Musichetta, who’d apparently been out looking for him daily, but hadn’t been able to find him.

“We can trust her, right?” Courfeyrac whispered to Combeferre.

“Well, I’m not entirely convinced, but I’m hoping she won’t try to kill us in our sleep, although she certainly looks like she could if she wanted to. Anyway, she knows about Joly’s friends, so we really can’t not go, right?” Combeferre said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t let him go all by himself.”

* * *

“Well, this is charming,” Grantaire muttered as they entered the small village. It looked much like the setting of some cheap post-apocalyptic Hollywood flick, except that this was real and it was scary.

Grantaire reached for Enjolras’ hand. He did so subconsciously and didn’t even realise until their fingers intertwined.

“Let’s just leave here quickly, okay?” Enjolras whispered.

Grantaire nodded. They walked over the rubble slowly, past houses and shops with smashed windows until his eyes fell onto the parking lot of a supermarket, where two dead zombies were lying in puddles of red laced with rainwater.

He stepped closer, dragging Enjolras with him.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras asked.  “We can hardly carry any more supplies than what we already have.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, “I just want to take a look.”

“Why? There might be more.” Enjolras stopped in his tracks, holding Grantaire back. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“Just a second.” Grantaire let go of him and inspected the bodies. He turned back around to look at Enjolras. “Someone’s been here. Recently.”

Enjolras stepped closer. “Are you sure?”

“Those don’t look like they’ve been dead for long,” Grantaire mused, looking around slowly.

It was eerily quiet, but that didn’t mean no one was lurking somewhere nearby. It didn’t mean that no one was watching them. He often forgot that they weren’t the only two people left.

“Who do you think it was?” Enjolras asked. Grantaire didn’t miss that he sounded hopeful.

“Definitely humans,” Grantaire replied. “You know that there’s no way of telling if it was your friends, right?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, “but still, it could have been them.”

“Theoretically,” Grantaire allowed.

Enjolras took a deep breath. “They might still be here.” He paused and started walking back towards the street. “Whoever they are,” he added.

Grantaire followed him and nodded. “Maybe they are.”

They looked around the village for a while, peeking into houses, but stopped after they kept encountering zombies that had been locked into rooms – at least until they’d started opening doors.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re the only ones here,” Enjolras said after a while.

“I agree.” Grantaire took Enjolras’ by the arm and pulled him down onto the sidewalk with him. “I’m sorry we still haven’t found them,” he mumbled and undid Enjolras’ messy bun. He slowly combed his fingers through his hair and tried to wipe some streaks of bloods off his face. “I know how much you miss them.”

Enjolras sighed and leaned against him. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

Grantaire pressed a quick kiss to his temple. “And I’m glad that you’re with me.” He quickly braided Enjolras’ hair and pulled him back to his feet. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

“Yeah.” Enjolras laced their fingers together again. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“That’s a pretty impressive house,” Jehan mumbled as they approached.

They’d had to ditch their shopping cart, because they wouldn’t have done well with it on the gravelly path leading to the house, and Courfeyrac was now carrying Jehan. Not that he minded, because Jehan really was a lightweight, but he was still breathing like he’d just run a marathon.

“It belonged to Marius’ grandfather,” Cosette told them. Courfeyrac remembered that name being mentioned earlier when Cosette had told them about the people he lived with. Apparently he was her fiancé. “There’s plenty of room for all of you.”

“I can’t wait to sleep in an actual bed without having to worry about someone eating me all night,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“Well, it’s still possible that someone might come to eat you,” Jehan pointed out.

“It’s highly unlikely, though,” Cosette said, falling into step with them. “We don’t get too many attacks. Not anymore. We just have to make sure we don’t get robbed.”

“Robbed,” Joly echoed, looking confused. “I assume not by zombies.”

“No, there’s another group a few towns over and they’ve been trying to screw us over a couple of times,” Cosette said lowly. “They haven’t bothered us in a while, though.”

It was starting to drizzle as they approached the house and Courfeyrac couldn’t wait to get inside. He could see a red-haired guy up on the balcony, watching as they came closer, then he vanished and the door opened for them and the same guy stepped outside, a huge wooden club in hand.

“It’s okay, Feuilly, they’re cool,” Cosette called, beckoning them to follow her up the steps. She took Joly by the hand. “This here,” she said, “is Joly.”

A smile spread across Feuilly’s face. “No fucking way.” He pulled Joly in a hug. “It’s so good to meet you, mate, I thought we’d never find you. Cosette, they’re by the fire, they got pretty damn wet earlier.”

Cosette smiled and took Joly by the arm to lead him inside. “Come with me.”

As soon as they’d vanished, Feuilly turned to them, looking them over slowly. “And who are you guys?” His eyes fell on Jehan, who was still on Courfeyrac’s back. “What happened to you?”

“I twisted my ankle,” Jehan mumbled.

Courfeyrac put him down as gently as he could. “We were carting him around in a shopping trolley, I guess Cosette must have heard us.”

“I bet she did,” Feuilly said and stepped back inside the house. “Come in, I don’t want you to get all wet. You should probably sit down,” he said to Jehan. “I’m Feuilly, by the way, if that wasn’t clear from the beginning. I used to work for Monsieur Gillenormand, Marius’ grandfather… kept things in order around here and all that.”

They all stepped inside behind him, Courfeyrac still with his arm slung around Jehan to support him. The entrance hall was gloomy, it was a little damp, cold, and there was an arsenal of weapons right next to the door – all in all, not exactly welcoming.

“As you can see I didn’t have much time for that lately,” Feuilly muttered. “Listen, I have to get back to my post,” he added and locked the heavy door, “so, um, who are you guys?”

“I’m Combeferre, this is Courfeyrac and that’s Jehan. We picked him up along the way,” Combeferre explained.  “Cosette said it would be alright for us to stay here for a bit,” he added quietly. He obviously didn’t want to invite himself and Courfeyrac and Jehan to stay here, but Courfeyrac knew that they all needed the rest, and so did Combeferre.

“Yeah, of course. Go talk to Cosette, she’s just down the hall, she’ll set you up with rooms and something to eat if you’re hungry.”

“Thank you,” Combeferre said, sounding almost relieved.

Feuilly nodded and turned to walk off, but Courfeyrac caught him by the elbow. “Just one more question.” He saw Combeferre side-eyeing him. He knew what he was about to ask.

“Yeah?” Feuilly asked.

“You haven’t seen a blond guy by any chance? Really tall and angelically beautiful?”

Feuilly shook his head. “Can’t say that I have, sorry.” With that he walked back up the stairs, exchanging his club for a rifle as he went.

“Well, it would have been too good to be true,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

Combeferre sighed and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Let’s go find Cosette.”

They left their bags by the stairs and walked down the hall, where they found Cosette lingering in the doorway of what looked like a study. Joly was sitting on the floor, hugging both a girl and a boy, who were undoubtedly Musichetta and Bossuet. They didn’t even realise they had company.

“I gather you’re staying?” Cosette asked happily.

“If that’s okay,” Jehan said, hobbling after her when she’d confirmed that it was, in fact, not a problem at all.

“We have a lot of free rooms, the ones that are taken have signs on the door, we figured it was the easiest way to not confuse the doors and all that,” Cosette said as she led them past closed doors. “I can get you sheets and blankets. Please don’t use the fireplaces in the rooms, we’re a little short on wood, although Marius and Bahorel are getting some more right now. We’ll see how much they were able to get. There’s a stream further back, too, but I wouldn’t recommend using that water for anything if it’s just rained.”

Courfeyrac wasn’t quite sure if he could keep track of all that information, but knowing Combeferre he’d probably already made a list in his mind.

“I have to go back downstairs and take care of dinner, I guess we’ll have stew or something. Just get settled in and come down when you’re done. Take your time.”

They made sure Jehan was all set, Courfeyrac probably made too big of a deal about making sure that Jehan was comfortable and insisted to get him another blanket, just for good measure, and then set out to find a room for themselves.

“’Ferre?” Courfeyrac asked, following Combeferre into the empty bedroom across the hall. “Do you…” He trailed off, shrugging. He’d been about to ask if he could stay with him, but they’d spent every single day and night together ever since they’d left Paris and Combeferre was probably sick of him by now. He shook his head. “I’ll go find a room.”

Combeferre turned around, smiling. “We can share.”

Courfeyrac crossed the distance between them to give him a long hug. He was so relieved that he didn’t have to spend the night in a cold room all by himself.

Outside the wind was picking up, and the rain started to come down in sheets again, but they didn’t have to worry about that right now. They had nowhere to go for now, they could stay right here, with a roof above their heads.

* * *

It was raining again.

Enjolras wasn’t all too happy about it, especially because the light drizzle had turned into hurricane-worthy downpour within seconds and they’d been drenched almost instantly. Grantaire was trudging through the mud, still holding his hand, but uncharacteristically quiet. He usually was the one who tried to make him feel better and tried to distract him when he was being grumpy, but he obviously was lost in thought himself.

Grantaire walked straight through a puddle of mud. Maybe they should have stayed on the paved road after all. It was completely empty, there were no cars that had been left behind, and the tarmac was still intact. They wouldn’t have any problems moving along if they still had their motorcycle.

At least they were protected from the rain in the shadow of the trees. Well, somewhat.

“Where do you think those paths lead?” Grantaire asked after they’d passed the second gravelly road leading into the forest. “Houses?”

“Probably,” Enjolras mumbled. He knew these kinds of driveways. His parents’ mansion stood at the end of one.

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully, but kept walking.

Enjolras knew that he probably wanted to walk down one to find a place to rest, some kind of shelter from this weather.  It wasn’t a bad idea, but that would make this the second day they didn’t make it far.

They walked on until Grantaire suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Is that a shopping trolley?”

Enjolras was about to confirm that, yes, it really was a shopping trolley, but then he heard a hiss from behind the trees on the other side of the road.

Grantaire immediately drew his rapier. “Can you hold my bags while I take care of that one?”

“I don’t think it’s just one,” Enjolras whispered. He saw at least five of them moving in the shadows. There was a loud screech, echoed by another one further back in the forest. There were many more than just five.

“Shit,” Grantaire whispered and tugged on Enjolras hand. “Run.”

Enjolras stumbled backwards and let Grantaire drag him into the forest, past the abandoned shopping trolley, down the gravelly path. The rain hit them with full force when they were out in the open again, but at least he could see the house now.

He didn’t have to turn around to know that the zombies were following on their heels. His lungs were on fire, but he needed to keep running. The house was there right there, it wasn’t far, they could make it.

Then Grantaire’s hand was gone from his, but Enjolras kept running until he heard a pained shout. Enjolras turned around, only now seeing that Grantaire hadn’t just let go but that he had fallen. Enjolras saw the zombies as well, and one of them was much too close – he needed to get Grantaire off the ground. Quickly.

Enjolras ran back towards Grantaire. He needed to get there before that zombie, even though his chances were slim. Grantaire was trying to get up, his backpacks pushing him down and Enjolras could see that it was too late. He was only steps away from Grantaire when an arrow pierced right through the zombie's face.

Enjolras let out a surprised yelp, but grabbed Grantaire’s arm, his only thought that they had to get out of here.

Grantaire stumbled to his feet and they ran towards the house.

* * *

They’d gathered in the study next to the fireplace to have dinner, all of them with a bowl of stew in hand.

Cosette had introduced Marius, the owner of the house, who seemed to be delighted to find that so many people had joined them, and Bahorel, a mountain of a man, who would have made the most terrifying zombie. Combeferre was glad that he was with them. He was glad that Bahorel seemed to be immune to zombie bites as well.

Bahorel had rolled back his sleeve, showing off three barely healed bites, which Combeferre and Joly inspected with interest.

It was then that they heard Cosette call out from upstairs. “Someone open the door,” she shouted. “Right now!”

Marius and Feuilly both scrambled to their feet immediately, running off down the hall.

Bahorel stood up as well, reached behind the heavy wooden desk and fished a gun from one of the drawers. “Stay put,” he said to them and stepped out into the hallway, waiting.

* * *

Enjolras almost stopped running when he saw the girl standing up on the balcony, bow in hand, relentlessly firing arrows at the zombies following them. She disappeared briefly and seconds later the wooden door of the mansion swung open.

They could only hope that the people inside that house weren’t worse than the zombies on the outside.

Enjolras pulled Grantaire onwards, urging him to run faster. They nearly tripped up the stairs and then toppled in through the door, the guy who’d probably opened it for them slammed it shut, and they collapsed in a heap on the floor, both of them gasping or air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be more e/r stuff in the next couple of chapters, I promise, I just needed them to get to the house first.


	11. Chapter 11

“We’re not dead,” Grantaire whispered, “we’re still alive, holy shit, what the hell just happened?” He raised his head and found two guys staring down at them, one looking worried, the other mostly curious.

Enjolras still had his face buried against his back, trying to catch his breath, apparently unwilling to let go of him just yet.

“Are you okay?” one of the guys, the worried looking one with the reddish-brown hair, asked.

The other one stepped forward and leaned down, ginger curls falling into his eyes. “Did one of them bite you?”

Grantaire shook his head. “We’re fine. Right, Enjolras, you’re not hurt, are you?” Grantaire turned around, his nose ending up bumping against Enjolras’ temple.

“I’m okay,” Enjolras mumbled and finally looked up, too. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Grantaire said quietly.

“Don’t thank us, we only opened the door.” He held out his hand for them, pulling them both to their feet. “I’m Feuilly, that’s Marius.”

A blonde girl came skipping down the steps and introduced herself as Cosette, taking a close look at them. “Everything okay?”

Feuilly nodded. “What about the zomies?”

 “We’re all good,” Cosette told Feuilly, who was still scrutinising Enjolras, eyes narrowed, obviously pondering something.

“Well,” Grantaire said, “it’s very nice to meet you all. I’m Grantaire, by the way.”

“I’m Enjolras. Thanks again for saving us,” he said, now turning to Cosette, who gave him a bright smile. “Do you guys live here?”

“We do,” Marius confirmed.

“For now,” Feuilly added, nodding. His eyes were still on Enjolras. “I know this might seem ridiculous, and it would really be too big of a coincidence, but we came across some new people today, Cosette picked them up not too far from here, and one of them asked if I’d seen a really tall blond guy. And, well, you’re a really tall blond guy.”

Enjolras drew in a sharp breath and reached for Grantaire’s hand. Grantaire gave it a gentle squeeze. “Are they still here?” Grantaire asked when Enjolras didn’t say anything.

“They are,” Feuilly said warily and turned his head to yell down the corridor. “Bahorel, send the new guys down here.”

“Why?” someone called back. Probably Bahorel.

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Just tell them.” He turned back to Enjolras and Grantaire with an apologetic shrug. “I don’t want to get their hopes up, Courfeyrac looked so sad when I-”

“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras whispered, fingernails digging into Grantaire’s palm, but only for a second, because then Enjolras let go of his hand, threw down his backpack and started running, just to barrel right into another guy who’d come running down the hallway. Going by Enjolras’ description of his friends, this must be Courfeyrac.

Grantaire watched as another guy joined them, undoubtedly Combeferre, who wrapped his arms around both of them, holding them tightly.

Grantaire watched them silently, just like everyone else. He had no part in this, they were Enjolras’ friends, they didn’t even know who he was. It was strange, though, that it had been this easy in the end. That they had found each other again this way. And Grantaire was happy for Enjolras, because now he had his friends back, now he didn’t have to worry about them anymore.

For a split second he also thought that just now might have been the last time he’d got to hold Enjolras hand, but he couldn’t allow himself to be selfish like this.

“You weren’t with them?” Cosette asked, tearing her eyes off the happy reunion on her left, looking back at Grantaire. He probably looked a bit like a lost puppy right about now.

Grantaire shook his head. He had no idea what to do now. Enjolras was back with his friends and he was back to having no one, and while that hadn’t been much of a problem for him before he’d run into Enjolras, it really did bug him now. He’d leave here without Enjolras, that much was certain. As much as he’d rather stay with him, he didn’t belong with him and he never would.

“Well,” Cosette said and gently took him by the arm, “feel free to stay as long as you want. We have enough space.”

Grantaire shook his head once again, eyes fixed on Enjolras, trying to ignore how much his hands were trembling and how fast his heart was still beating. “I shouldn’t.”

“At least stay the night,” Feuilly said. “Seriously, it’s probably going to rain again. You don’t want to be out there tonight. Get a good night’s sleep, you can set out first thing in the morning if you still want to.”

“Come on,” Cosette said when Grantaire didn’t answer, “you look exhausted.” She resolutely shoved him towards the staircase and led him upstairs.

Grantaire thought that maybe he should say something to Enjolras, but he couldn’t think of anything. Maybe they could talk in the morning. Anyway, it didn’t matter, the only thing he could say to him way goodbye. He let Cosette lead him to a lofty room with a huge four-poster and wide windows. She got him clean sheets and a glass of water, made sure he was all set and drew the curtains.

“Get some rest, okay?” she said as he dropped his backpack next to the bed and sat down. “I’m pretty sure you’ve had enough excitement for one day.”

“What happened to all those zombies?” Grantaire asked. He was pretty sure that Cosette had been the one shooting arrows at them from the balcony.

“There all taken care of,” Cosette assured him and squeezed his shoulder. “If there’s anything you need, just come downstairs, there’s usually someone up, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be out for a while.”

Grantaire tried to smile, but failed miserably. All he could think of was Enjolras.

“I’ll make sure your friend is alright,” she said as if she’d been reading his mind.

“Thank you,” Grantaire mumbled, although he wasn’t even entirely sure what exactly he was thanking her for. The bed maybe, or that she’d saved his ass, or that she’d make sure that nothing bad was going to happen to Enjolras.

Enjolras, who wouldn’t curl up next to him tonight.

Enjolras, who didn’t need him anymore.

* * *

Courfeyrac was dimly aware that he was crying into Enjolras’ hoodie and that he was getting him all wet, but he didn’t care, because it was Enjolras, he was still alive, he was alright, and Courfeyrac wasn’t planning on letting go of him anytime soon.

Combeferre, too, had his arms wrapped around them, keeping them squished together. Courfeyrac didn’t mind at all. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispered.

“I can’t believe you guys are here,” Enjolras mumbled, his arms tightening around Courfeyrac, “I thought I’d never find you.”

“What the hell happened to you?” Courfeyrac asked. “We were looking for you.”

“I was looking for you guys, too, that’s how I came across-” Enjolras froze and abruptly pulled away, looking around the entrance hall.

Feuilly and Marius were still watching them, both of them with smiles on their faces.

“Where’s Grantaire?” Enjolras asked.

“Is that the guy who was with you?” Courfeyrac had hardly seen him, had only registered an unfamiliar face next to the door, then all he’d been able to concentrate on had been Enjolras.

Enjolras nodded and let go of Courfeyrac and Combeferre. “Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Feuilly said quickly. “Costette just took him upstairs. He looked a little shaken, to be honest. Can’t really blame him, you guys just nearly got killed. You look a bit pale yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Enjolras said resolutely, then he turned to look at Courfeyrac and Combeferre. “I’m sorry, but I really have to go talk to him.”

“Let him rest for a bit,” Combeferre piped up. “So should you, by the way.”

Courfeyrac nodded. He was worried about Enjolras. He looked even thinner than last time he’d seen him, then again, they all did – but still, he did look pale, as Feuilly had already remarked, and he looked tired, too, like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Come with me,” Courfeyrac said, almost determined not to let Enjolras out of his sight ever again, “we have a room upstairs.”

* * *

Enjolras figured that throwing a fuss about not wanting to go to bed just yet wouldn’t get him anywhere, because even though it had been Courfeyrac’s suggestion, Combeferre seemed to think that he needed get some sleep as well, and there was absolutely no arguing with Combeferre when it came to these matters.

When he’d stayed up too late to study or to finish a paper, it had been Combeferre who’d come to take away his books or his laptop, making sure he had nothing to do so he’d finally go to bed.

Still, he wanted to see Grantaire, wanted to tell him not to go anywhere, even though it was silly, because why would Grantaire suddenly decide to take off in the middle of the night. He wouldn’t. Enjolras could talk to him in the morning.

Enjolras peeled off his damp clothes, pulled on a shirt that Combeferre handed to him without arguing and crawled into bed, Combeferre right beside him.

“I’ll just tell Jehan what happened,” Courfeyrac said lowly, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” he added, turning to Combeferre.

Enjolras wanted to ask who Jehan was, he really did, but his limbs felt so heavy and he was so comfortable cradled against Combeferre’s chest, he didn’t even remind Courfeyrac that he really had nowhere to go. Enjolras was already half-asleep when the door clicked shut behind Courfeyrac.

* * *

Grantaire had tried to give sleeping a try. But there’d been voices down the hall and voices outside his window, there’d been laughter and the wind had picked up again and soon raindrops had started patting against his window.

It should have been soothing, it should have lulled him to sleep at some point, but his mind was still too focused on Enjolras, on the fact that he was probably just down the hall or maybe even right in the room next to him. His friends were probably with him. He was safe. Knowing that should have calmed Grantaire down.

Grantaire sighed, slipped out of bed and pulled his jeans back on. The house had grown quiet and it was almost dark outside, but Cosette had left him a candle and some matches.

He snuck down the hall, glad that he didn’t get lost on his way to the staircase, then he passed through the cold, damp entrance hall, where he finally found himself at a loss. There was the front door, obviously, another door on the right, and two corridors.

He walked down the one Enjolras’ friends had emerged from earlier that day, hoping he’d come across someone back there. It was so quiet, the house almost seemed abandoned. A shiver ran down Grantaire’s spine, but he ignored it and walked on until he came across a patch of light on the floor, shining out from under a door.

Grantaire pushed it open, peeking inside.

At first he’d thought the room, a study by the looks of it, was empty, because no one was sitting by the dying fire, but then someone spoke up. “You must be one of the guys who nearly got eaten this afternoon.”

Grantaire looked around and found a broad-shouldered guy sitting in an arm chair with his feet propped up on massive wooden desk in the back of the room. “I am,” Grantaire confirmed, his lips twitching into a lopsided smile. “I’m Grantaire.”

“Bahorel,” the other guys said. “Lots of new people around here today. You with Joly and Bossuet?”

Grantaire shook his head and sat down in the armchair next to Bahorel’s. “I’m on my own. Well, I came here with Enjolras. I’m not sure if you’ve seen him.”

“I haven’t,” Bahorel said, “Cosette told me he looked pretty beat. His with the other two, right? Combeferre and Courfeyrac, I think?”

“Yeah, they somehow lost each other.”

“Happens when you’re running from zombies. I’ve lost people out there many times, but we usually all find our way back here,” Bahorel said and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Want some?”

“The whole bottle if you don’t mind,” Grantaire mumbled, trying to make it sound like a joke, but, quite honestly, he was dying for a drink.

Bahorel grinned and poured a generous amount into a glass.

Grantaire took it from him with a thankful smile. “So,” he started, looking around the room, “how did you all end up here?”

“Oh man, it’s a long story.” Bahorel leaned back, thinking. “The house belonged to Marius’ grandfather and I think he was visiting here with Cosette when this whole… _thing_ happened. Anyway, they stayed here, tried not to get killed and they were gonna wait it out, wait until someone came to get them. Apparently there were evacuations, but not around here, so they stuck around to take care of Marius’ grandfather.”

“What happened to him? Does he still live here?”

“No, he’s dead. No idea what happened, though,” Bahorel said with a shrug. “Don’t want to ask either.”

Grantaire nodded. “I see.”

“Feuilly was already here when I got here,” Bahorel continued, “there were others, too, but we’re the only ones left now. We were gonna go east, but we heard that they’re not letting anyone cross the border, so we figured it might be better to stick around.”

Grantaire hummed thoughtfully. He’d still try to go east. He’d made it this far and he really didn’t want to stay here for the rest of his miserable life.

“You’re still going, huh?” Bahorel asked, eyebrows raised. “Good luck with that, man.”

“Better than ending up as zombie breakfast,” Grantaire mumbled and poured himself some more whiskey.

“You might end up like that either way,” Bahorel said. “Obviously I shouldn’t talk since zombie bites do nothing to me, but still.” He shrugged. “We might try to leave in a while after all. Who knows. Stick around for a bit and see how everything pans out.”

Grantaire shook his head and drained his glass. “Not a good idea. And what do you mean, zombie bites don’t do anything to you?”

Bahorel rolled up his sleeve to show him is upper arm, where, amidst some tattoos Bahorel had two bites that were barely healed. “I’m immune. Don’t ask me how. Combeferre and Joly were talking about it earlier, but I have no idea what exactly is going on.”

“Well, I guess that’s pretty useful,” Grantaire muttered.

“It is. Anyway, why won’t you stay?” Bahorel asked, not batting an eye when Grantaire reached for the bottle again. “Everyone here is pretty cool.”

Grantaire only made a vague sort of grumbling noise. He was in for a whole lot of frustration if he stayed. And he knew himself well enough to know that he’d need a whole lot more than just a bottle of whiskey to see him through.

“Where is everyone anyway?” Grantaire asked. Obviously he hadn’t been hoping to run into Enjolras. Enjolras was catching up with his friends. Or maybe he was fast asleep. Now that he thought about it, that’s probably where everyone else was, too.

“Bed,” Bahorel said, confirming Grantaire’s thoughts, “or watching out for zombies. It’s been a pretty crazy day, though. Cosette said she shot about a dozen. We haven’t had that many in a while.” Bahorel gave Grantaire a pat on the shoulder that made him wince. “I’m gonna go crash.”

Grantaire bid him goodnight and settled back into the armchair.

At some point he didn’t even pour the whiskey anymore, he just drank it straight from the bottle. A few years ago he’d promised himself he wouldn’t be like this anymore. He’d promised himself that he’d be better, that he’d cut back. On good days it had worked.

He’d got better over the years, had never really been sober, but he’d been well enough for his skin to stop crawling and for his fingers to stop itching for a drink every single second of every single day.

Right now he couldn’t care less about what he’d promised himself.

He took another swig, then he started thinking about what to tell Enjolras the next morning. He knew he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, he had to think of the least painful way of doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that I'm a little slow with my updates lately, which is because I have loads of work to do at uni. I'll keep trying to update weekly, but it probably won't work too well during the next couple of weeks. Sorry about that.


	12. Chapter 12

Enjolras woke up in the early hours of the morning. Courfeyrac was curled up into a ball on his right; Combeferre was snoring softly on his left.

He slowly sat up, making sure not to wake up his friends as he slipped out of bed. He made his way downstairs noiselessly, and came across Feuilly in the entrance hall.

“You’re up early,” Feuilly said and grabbed a jacket from a hook on the wall. “I was just on my way out,” he added, holding up a rifle, “but there’s food in the kitchen, it’s the last door at the end of that corridor.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras was hungry, but breakfast had to wait. “Do you know where I can find Grantaire? Your friend whisked him away a little too quickly yesterday.”

Feuilly smiled. “He’s asleep in the study, actually. Down the hall, too. Second door on the right.”

Enjolras thanked him again and walked down the hall, slowly pushing open the door to the study. Grantaire was there, as Feuilly had told him, curled up in an armchair, cradling an empty bottle to his chest.

There were two empty glasses on the desk, so he’d probably not been alone, but Enjolras still very much felt like lecturing him for drinking when they could be attacked by zombies at any given second. What good would Grantaire be when he was drunk? How were they supposed to get him out of here when he couldn’t even think straight?

Enjolras took a deep breath to keep himself from shouting at him right here and now. He pried Grantaire’s fingers off the bottle as gently as he could and then sat down in the other armchair, watching the rise and fall of Grantaire’s chest for a while.

Grantaire woke up eventually, blinking in confusion when he spotted Enjolras next to him. “Good morning,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes.

“Good morning,” Enjolras replied.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Grantaire whispered. His voice was low and rough, he looked sickly pale and tired, almost like he hadn’t slept at all.

“A while.” Enjolras leaned closer and brushed his fingers through Grantaire’s curls, frowning when Grantaire tensed at the touch. “Is something wrong?”

Grantaire shook his head. “Everything’s good, no worries. I, um... I guess I’ll leave in a bit.”

“Leave,” Enjolras echoed. “Where are you going?”

“Onwards,” Grantaire whispered, his lips twitching. “You know, where I’ve been going all along.”

“But...” Grantaire couldn’t go. Not without him. And he couldn’t go without Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who both seemed to want to stay here, at least for a little while. Grantaire couldn’t just leave him here. He’d probably never see him again.

“What?” Grantaire asked sourly. “You found your friends, you don’t need me anymore.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Enjolras protested. “If you go out there on your own, how are you going to-”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupted, “I was doing okay before I met you, I’ll be fine.”

Something in the way that Grantaire wouldn’t look at him told Enjolras that that wasn’t the whole story. “At least stay for a couple of days.”

“And get myself killed here?” Grantaire asked, rolling his eyes.

“You wouldn’t be alone here. This house seems to be quite safe, too, so we probably won’t run into much trouble.”

“And then what?” Grantaire crossed his arms over his chest. “We can’t stay here forever. We’re going to run out of food. And what’s going to happen in winter? It’s pretty hard to keep a house this big warm for months. And, hey, there are still zombies out there, let’s not forget about those. They won’t decide that they don’t want to kill us anymore all of a sudden, you know? We are fucked if we stay here.”

“I asked you to stay for a couple of weeks, maybe, not for the rest of your life,” Enjolras said, narrowing his eyes.

“First it was a couple of days, now it’s a couple of weeks. Honestly, Enjolras, we’re dead either way. I’m leaving.”

“You can’t. All I’m asking-”

“What makes you think that you have the right to ask me for anything?” Grantaire spat and stood up. “You don’t get to decide what I do with my life. I don’t want to fucking rot here.”

“Fine, then go,” Enjolras hissed. He couldn’t believe Grantaire would be this unreasonable, that he would even consider going out there on his own when it was so much safer to stay. He’d die out there. “Go get yourself killed.”

Grantaire nodded, looking at the floor rather than Enjolras. “I will. It was nice having met you.” He did a little curtsey and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Enjolras leaned back, sighing heavily. This hadn’t gone as planned.

* * *

Grantaire ran up the stairs, ignoring that he felt slightly woozy and luckily managed to find the room he’d left his stuff in on the first try.

He started rearranging his backpack and inspected the food he still had left. He should probably leave some of it for Enjolras, since it belonged to both of them, but he really wasn’t planning on talking to him again before he set out.

Maybe it was better this way. It made leaving easier.

No, who was he kidding, it didn’t make leaving easier at all. Actually, it made it indefinitely harder. He hadn’t meant to argue with Enjolras, he’d wanted to say goodbye, hug him maybe, but no, Enjolras, ever the idealist, just wouldn’t let him leave like this.

He felt horrible, not only because he definitely had to leave Enjolras now. Now he surely wouldn’t want him to stick around anymore.

Maybe they’d become something like friends while they’d been out there together, but Grantaire had never been more than a mere distraction to Enjolras and he wasn’t even sure why he’d been hoping that it would be any different. He’d seen it all along. He would never be good enough for Enjolras.

When he fished one of Enjolras’ shirts out of the pile of clothes he’d dumped onto his bed, he quickly stuffed it into his backpack. He wouldn’t give it back. Enjolras probably wouldn’t even miss it.

Grantaire sighed, looking at the mostly dirty clothing he called his own. He needed to do the laundry somehow, because jumping into a river with your clothes on didn’t really cut it. There was a well out in the back, he could see it from his window, but he didn’t really want to stay longer than he strictly needed to. He’d find a river or a lake somewhere around here, he was sure. Maybe he could ask Feuilly to give him directions before he left. Maybe they had a map they didn’t need lying around somewhere.

The house wasn’t too far from the border. Grantaire could find another horse, or maybe another motorbike, although fuel was still hard to come by and even though the road they’d come here on hadn’t been completely destroyed, the other ones around here might be.

If he was lucky, it might only take him a few days.

The problem was that Grantaire had never been even just remotely lucky.

Grantaire didn’t really have the time to make any further plans, because there was a knock on the door, and a guy Grantaire had never seen before poked his head inside. “Oh, hello,” he said, “we haven’t met, have we? My name’s Jehan.”

Grantaire shook his head. “No we haven’t. I’m Grantaire,” he said, “no need to remember my name, though, I won’t be here for much longer.”

“Too bad,” Jehan said and hobbled over to the bed to sit down. “Why are you leaving?”

“I just want to...” Grantaire shrugged and stuffed another shirt into his backpack. “I want to get out of here.”

“So you’ve been here for long?” Jehan asked. “I don’t think Cosette mentioned you.”

“I got here last evening,” Grantaire told him.

Jehan tilted his head. “With Enjolras?”

“You know him?” Grantaire asked.

“No, I just heard that he was here. I came here with his friends.”

Grantaire nodded. He was somewhat curious to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but now that he’d argued with Enjolras he probably wouldn’t get the chance to. “I’ve heard a lot about them,” he said eventually. “I’m glad he found them again.”

Jehan raised an eyebrow, staring him down. “Is that why you’re leaving?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you leaving because you think that now he’s back with them he doesn’t need you anymore?”

Well, that was exactly what he thought, but Jehan didn’t need to know that. “No, of course not. I just want to make it out of this shithole.”

“On your own?” Jehan asked sceptically.

Grantaire shrugged. “I can make it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can. But you’ve spent a lot of time with him, probably about as much time as I spent with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. And now you just want to leave without him?”

“Well, he sure as hell won’t come with me,” Grantaire grumbled.

“You could stay a little longer.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I’d rather not,” he muttered.

“Okay,” Jehan said, reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “Sit down.” He pulled Grantaire down next to him. “Tell me what’s bothering you and don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I’m not buying that. Look at it this way... I don’t know you, you don’t know me, this is a judgement-free zone, just spill it.”

Grantaire really didn’t know why, but he liked this guy. He felt like he could trust him. “He doesn’t need me here,” Grantaire said quietly. “He was just glad that he didn’t have to be alone. I mean, so was I, in the beginning. But now...” Now he was fucked because he’d somehow managed to fall in love with a guy who’d surely never want to be with him.

“Now you’re running away because you don’t want to deal with your feelings?”

Basically. “I’m not running away.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what you’re doing. If you go now, you may never see him again. Is that really better than talking to him and telling him how you really feel?”

“Let me think.” Grantaire paused for a second. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Coward,” Jehan whispered, barely disguised by a fake sneeze.

“Yeah, whatever. I really can’t stay. I’d just make a fool of myself.” Actually he already had made a fool of himself. “Well, and then I’d have to leave. It’s so much easier to just leave right away.”

Jehan hummed lowly. “Well, I suppose sometimes you have to take your chances.”

Grantaire only shook his head. He wasn’t going to talk to Enjolras. So he had to go. “Sorry, man.”

“I guess, I’ll leave you to it, then.” Jehan patted him on the back and stood up. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye.” Then he limped out the door.

* * *

Enjolras was sitting at the massive wooden dining room table with Feuilly, Cosette, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, trying very hard to focus on what Feuilly was telling them.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre had both argued in favour of staying here, at least for a week or two, they’d said, but Enjolras was sure that they might even remain here for a little longer. It was convenient, not having to run from zombies every day, they had enough supplies for weeks to come – they’d be fine for a while. They were all in desperate need of a break.

And yet, Grantaire wouldn’t stay. Enjolras couldn’t shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. They’d had lots and lots of disagreements along the way, and they’d always managed to work it out somehow, but then they’d had to, now Grantaire could leave him behind. Maybe he was glad that he didn’t have to look out for Enjolras anymore. He’d slowed him down considerably, Enjolras was sure, maybe he should just let him go.

The problem was that Enjolras had never been good at letting things go and apparently that also went for people.

After a while, Jehan, whom Enjolras had met less than an hour ago, slipped back into the room, took a chair and dragged it between his and Courfeyrac’s. “Listen,” Jehan whispered, turning to Enjolras, “if you want Grantaire to stay, which I think you do, you should probably tell him not to leave right now. Because he just walked out the door.”

Enjolras frowned, struggling not to jump to his feet and not run after him. Grantaire would stay if he wanted to stay. And he obviously didn’t.

“I mean it,” Jehan said sternly. “Why are you still sitting here?”

“Well, he obviously doesn’t want to stay, so why should I try to stop him,” Enjolras said defensively.

“Wait, that guy... Grantaire? He’s leaving?” Courfeyrac asked. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

Combeferre leaned across the table, watching Enjolras closely. “Did something happen?”

“We argued,” Enjolras muttered, “but it doesn’t matter, he wanted to leave before we argued as well.”

“Just because he thinks that you don’t need him anymore now that you’re back with Courfeyrac and Combeferre,” Jehan told him. “Which isn’t true, right?”

“Of course not,” Enjolras snapped. “He’s such an idiot, why would he even think that?”

“Enjolras, I don’t want to be nosy or anything, but what exactly is going on with you and that guy?” Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras was about to tell him that it was none of his business when Feuilly cleared his throat noisily. “I don’t want to interrupt, but maybe you should go after him?”

Jehan nodded. “He’s right, go get him back here. He went out the back door.”

It only took one nod of the head to the door from Combeferre to get Enjolras to jump to his feet, running down the hall and out the door.


	13. Chapter 13

“Grantaire!”

Grantaire frowned, but kept on walking. Either he was imagining things or he was still drunk, but he was pretty sure that it wasn’t actually Enjolras who was calling his name. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

“Grantaire, stop!”

He stopped in his tracks then, because, yes, that was definitely Enjolras’ voice and not some kind of elaborate hallucination, and when had he ever been able to actually defy Enjolras except with his words. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he turned around, but it certainly wasn’t Enjolras running towards him across the field behind the house, but there he was, looking like he was about to collapse.

Grantaire stood frozen in place, barely managing to lift his arms to catch Enjolras when he’d reached him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Grantaire asked, gently rubbing Enjolras’ back.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Enjolras said, still trying to catch his breath. “Why the fuck did you just leave?”

“I told you I was leaving,” Grantaire muttered defensively.

“But…” Enjolras sucked in a deep breath. “You can’t leave.”

Grantaire snorted. “I can’t?”

“No, you have to stay,” Enjolras said resolutely.

“And why is that?”

“Because we need you here.”

“Nobody here _needs_ me,” Grantaire said, pushing Enjolras away from him a little.

“I do,” Enjolras mumbled. “I need you here.”

“Enjolras…”

“I mean it,” Enjolras interrupted before Grantaire could even form a coherent thought. “I need you to stay with me. I don’t want you to go.”

Grantaire frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s so hard to understand?” Enjolras looked like he was about to start yelling at him. “I’m asking you to stay. Please stay.”

“I just don’t get _why_.”

“If you go away right now, I may never see you again,” Enjolras said lowly. “And I can’t go with you, so I need you to stay with me.”

Grantaire stared up at him, a little lost for words.

“I can’t promise we’re going to leave soon and I know you want to get out of here and this is so incredibly selfish of me, but please… at least try.”

“You really want me to stay.”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d actually… I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d care, I guess.”

“Of course I care,” Enjolras said, sounding almost offended. “Why would you think that I don’t? Because of this morning?”

Grantaire looked down at his feet and nodded. Deep breaths.

“Grantaire?”

“Hm?”

“Come back with me,” Enjolras said, reaching for his hands and taking them in his. “I’m sorry about…” He trailed off, his thumb running over the back of Grantaire’s hand. “I’m sorry about what I said. Please don’t go.”

Grantaire sighed and closed his eyes. He didn’t really have a choice here. If Enjolras really wanted him to stay, Grantaire would stay as long as he’d have him. “I’ll be a fucking nuisance, you know? You’re going to hate me.”

“I’ll hate you even more if you leave me here,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Fine,” Grantaire said, finally looking up to find Enjolras smiling down at him. “I’ll stay.” At least for a while. Enjolras would realise soon enough that Grantaire was nothing but a burden.

Enjolras let go of his hands only to grab him by the hips and pull him closer, kissing him hard.

It took Grantaire less than a few seconds to forget why he’d ever wanted to leave.

* * *

Enjolras had managed to get Grantaire to come back with him. So far so good.

They’d spent most of the day getting settled in properly, by noon he’d met everyone who lived in the house, and now he was helping Feuilly figure out a schedule for who was going to take the watch on which night, who was in charge of dinner, when they needed to go on another supply run and when they needed to get more firewood.

Grantaire was at the other end of the dining table, cleaning weapons and sharpening knives with Bahorel. He looked up every now, caught Enjolras watching him and smiled, but got distracted when the voices out in the hallway were growing louder.

“Look, I know burning them isn’t the greatest idea,” Joly was saying as he came walking into the dining room, “but we can’t just leave them lying around in the field.”

“I agree,” Cosette said lowly, leaning against the table, looking at Combeferre and Marius, who’d both followed her and Joly inside.

“What about the smoke?” Combeferre asked. “Someone might see it. Or smell it.”

“Do zombies even have a sense of smell?” Marius threw in.

“I’m pretty sure they do,” Joly said.

“We could always bury them,” Feuilly chimed in.

“We’d need a really big hole for that,” Grantaire said, slowly getting up. “It’s gonna take forever to dig it. Not sure if it’s worth it, to be honest.”

“He’s right, we should burn them.”

“Which leaves us with the smoke problem.”

“Well, they’re scared of fire, aren’t they?” Cosette asked. “Maybe it’s actually not too much of a problem.”

“It’s still going to lure them here,” Combeferre said.

“Do you think it’ll be worse than the chimney?” Marius asked.

“Well, it’s definitely going to be a bigger fire,” Cosette mumbled. “But we can definitely take care of a few more zombies.”

“What do you usually do with the dead ones?” Enjolras asked.

“We carry them to the fence. Leave them there as a snack,” Bahorel said, shrugging. “Better them than us.”

“Burning them just seems… more humane,” Joly muttered.

“Let’s burn them,” Cosette said, pushing herself off the edge of the table. “Tomorrow. It’s going to get dark soon.”

“’Kay, boss,” Feuilly said and patted her on the shoulder.

“Anyone want to help make dinner?” Cosette asked, striding towards the door, not really waiting for an answer.

Grantaire looked around the room, his eyebrows raised. “Should someone go with her?”

“We don’t live up to her standards,” Bahorel whispered.

“ _You_ don’t live up to her standards,” Feuilly said, rolling his eyes. “He burnt our dinner twice, now he’s not allowed anywhere near the kitchen anymore. I have to go check on Bossuet and Musichetta.”

Joly looked up. “I’ll come with you. I wanted to take a look at Jehan’s ankle, too.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, nodding slowly, “I guess I’ll go help Cosette, then.”

“Be careful she might hit you with a pan if you annoy her,” Marius mumbled, quickly walking out the door before anyone could ask further questions.

Grantaire snorted and winked at Enjolras before he followed Marius out the door.

Enjolras stared after him, trying very hard to resist the urge to just follow him. Just to make sure he’d really stay. It was quite irrational to think that Grantaire might just sneak away even now that Enjolras had talked him into staying, but he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right between them.

“Feuilly,” Combeferre said, snapping Enjolras out of his thoughts, “do you still need Enjolras’ help?”

“No, I’m good,” Feuilly said, squeezing Enjolras’ shoulder before he returned to the table to brood over the schedules they’d worked out together.

“Come with me,” Combeferre muttered and gently pushed Enjolras out into the hallway.

Combeferre guided him upstairs, back to his and Courfeyrac’s room – well, their room, actually, since Enjolras would probably be staying with them. Combeferre told Enjolras to sit down, then he went to fetch Courfeyrac, the both of them sitting down to either side of him.

“What’s going on?” Enjolras asked, glancing first at Combeferre, then at Courfeyrac, who was looking surprisingly serious.

“We just thought…” Courfeyrac trailed off, looking to Combeferre to continue.

“It’s about time you told us what happened,” Combeferre said.

Courfeyrac nodded. “We basically told you every little detail of what happened to us ever since we lost you this morning and you barely said a word.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Enjolras said lowly.

“Tell us about Grantaire,” Courfeyrac urged.

“Tell us how you got lost first,” Combeferre said, shooting Courfeyrac a stern glance.

Enjolras sighed. He couldn’t even remember how exactly it had happened anymore. There was a memory of blue eyes looking down at him worriedly – that was what Courfeyrac had been asking about. Grantaire.

“I just wanted to take a look around, I told you that,” Enjolras began, shrugging, “there were zombies and I started to run and I couldn’t find my way back. It took us forever to find the farm again and when we did you weren’t there anymore.”

“You came back,” Courfeyrac whispered. “You came back and we weren’t there.”

“It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known,” Enjolras said immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Courfeyrac said, throwing his arms around Enjolras, squeezing him as tightly as he could. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras muttered, patting Courfeyrac’s back, turning his head to get Combeferre to help him. Combeferre, however, was staying very still, looking sad and almost a little guilty.

“It’s not your fault,” Enjolras said again, more firmly this time. “And we’re back together now, right?”

“We thought you were dead,” Courfeyrac whispered. “We thought you were…”

“But I’m okay.” Enjolras didn’t know what to do, what to say to convince them that there was nothing they could have done. “I’m okay,” he said again.

“So, you went back to the farm,” Combeferre said, his voice quiet.

Enjolras nodded, still hugging Courfeyrac, who didn’t seem to let go of him.

“You said _us_ ,” Courfeyrac mumbled.

“Grantaire was with me.”

“I’m glad you weren’t alone,” Combeferre said, sighing deeply.

“Can you tell us about him now?” Courfeyrac asked, looking up at him with a huge grin on his face. “I mean, you can’t deny that there’s some tension there. Did you kiss him?”

“Are you really going to pretend that you and Jehan weren’t watching from the window,” Combeferre whispered.

“You were watching?” Enjolras asked, shoving Courfeyrac off of him, not even trying to be gentle. “Seriously?”

Courfeyrac shrugged. “It’s not like we watched for long.”

“Still,” Enjolras grumbled.

“The real question is,” Courfeyrac said, “why aren’t you kissing him right now?”

“Because…” Enjolras shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s not like that. We’re not… together.”

“So you just made out every now and then when it was cold at night and you felt a little lonely?” Courfeyrac asked, his eyes wide. “Enjolras, how scandalous.” He grinned and took Enjolras’ hand. “I’m so proud.”

“There’s nothing scandalous about this,” Enjolras hissed, pouting. Courfeyrac tended to make a big deal of these things, no matter if it concerned himself or Combeferre or Enjolras. Courfeyrac liked to talk about his conquests, and he liked to overshare, too. Enjolras was used to it, but he thought it safer not to mention that he’d actually slept with Grantaire on multiple occasions.

“Why are you blushing, then?” Courfeyrac asked, tilting his head.

Enjolras didn’t answer, cursing his face for betraying him like this. His cheeks were probably the colour of the hoodie Grantaire had stolen for him back at the farm.

“Oh my god,” Courfeyrac whispered.

“Courf,” Combeferre said, his tone clearly a warning.

Enjolras glared at Combeferre, because, really, he could have come to his rescue a little earlier.

“But-”

“No,” Enjolras said sternly, hoping his face wouldn’t give him away again. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“Wow,” Courfeyrac whispered. “You really like him, don’t you? Not just in _a hey we’re friends and I don’t want you to get eaten_ way. You really, really _like_ him.”

“I told you, it’s nothing-”

“ _Like that_ , yes you said that,” Courfeyrac mumbled. “I don’t believe you.”

“Combeferre, please tell Courfeyrac that I don’t care whether or not he believes me, I’m done with this conversation.”

Combeferre didn’t seem to care in the slightest, only rolled his eyes and proceeded to say nothing at all.

“Combeferre, tell Enjolras that he needs to do something about the massive crush he has on Grantaire.”

“I don’t have a _massive crush_ ,” Enjolras said loudly. He didn’t, he really didn’t. Grantaire was a friend. A friend who was remarkable good in bed, yes, but still just a friend.

* * *

“Do you think they’ll ever get their shit together?” Courfeyrac whispered to Jehan.

They’d retreated to a dark corner of the study, because Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, Marius, Cosette and Musichetta were playing Trivial Pursuit in the noisiest fashion possible. Feuilly was up on the balcony, taking the watch, Combeferre had volunteered to keep him company. And Enjolras was sitting in armchair, or better, had curled up in an arm chair, never taking his eyes off Grantaire.

“Well, it’s only been a day, and there’s obviously something going on,” Jehan whispered back, leaning in a little closer than strictly necessary.

“I know, but look how they keep glancing at each other, they’re not exactly being subtle, they should be having hot post-apocalyptic _we’re the last people on earth sex_ right now.”

“They’re not really the last people on earth, you know.”

“I didn’t mean literally,” Courfeyrac said and poked Jehan in the ribs. “I mean, who wouldn’t  totally be up for _we’re the last people on earth sex_.”

Jehan hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe we should sneak them some condoms. You know, to give them a hint. Maybe we should lock them in a room together, too.”

Courfeyrac slowly turned his head, looking at the mischievous smile playing around Jehan’s lips. Courfeyrac had never been more in love with him than in that moment. “So…”

“So?” Jehan asked, shifting a little closer.

“You don’t really have condoms, do you?” Courfeyrac asked. He’d meant to bring some, but Combeferre and Enjolras had convinced him that he wouldn’t need them. _Who do you want to sleep with anyway?_  they’d asked. _Everyone’s been turned into zombies._ Well, Courfeyrac hadn’t taken Jehan into account.

Jehan’s innocent smile quickly turned into a grin. “Only a few. I’d gladly give one to them, though.”

“You think you won’t need them?” Courfeyrac asked lowly.

“Well, do _you_ think I will?” Jehan was so close that their noses were almost touching now. Thankfully everyone else in the room was ignoring them completely.

Courfeyrac grinned. He liked where this was going. “Maybe.”

Jehan hummed again. “And I suppose you wouldn’t be opposed to…” He trailed off, the corner of his mouth giving a twitch. He put his hand on Courfeyrac’s knee, slowly trailing it upwards.

“Not at all,” Courfeyrac whispered, bumping his nose against Jehan’s.

“You think you’re the hottest guy around, huh?”

“Well, don’t you?” Courfeyrac asked.

“Hm, you’re not bad.” Jehan asked, kissing the smile right off Courfeyrac’s face. “We should go.”

“We really should,” Courfeyrac agreed. “I have to take over for Feuilly in two hours.”

“Two hours are more than enough time,” Jehan said, kissing him again. “I might even keep you company while you take the watch later on.”

* * *

Grantaire watched as Courfeyrac and Jehan snuck out the door, holding hands, both of them the hugest grins on their faces. There was really no doubt about what those two were up to.

Enjolras, still in his armchair, only glanced at them briefly, then his eyes flickered back to Grantaire.

Grantaire smiled at him, but he was soon distracted by Joly and Bossuet, who passed him a bottle of wine. Grantaire took a couple of sips before he handed it back to Joly.

Enjolras slowly got up and walked towards the door a couple of minutes later, glancing at Grantaire one more time before he slipped out the door. Grantaire briefly thought about following him, about talking to him, about asking him what the hell was going on between them, but Enjolras had looked tired all day and he probably wanted to go to bed.

One by one everyone was starting to head to their rooms as well, until only Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet were left. They emptied one more bottle of wine before they, too, headed upstairs, Joly and Bossuet joining Musichetta, Grantaire going back to his own room.

It was almost too dark to see – he’d given his candle to Bossuet after he’d almost tripped up the stairs – but he didn’t bother lighting another one. He slipped right under the covers, his thoughts wandering back to Enjolras.

Obviously he’d never really been hopeful that things between them would ever get past the _I’m here and you’re here and we have nothing else to do and we’re desperate_ stage, but somehow it wasn’t just that that was bugging him. He missed having someone there with him, even though he wasn’t the only one here, there was still no one curled up next to him, no one whose quiet breathing he could listen to.

He turned over and buried his face in a pillow, waiting in vain for sleep to come.

* * *

Enjolras heard when Combeferre snuck inside their room, almost noiselessly, probably assuming that Enjolras was fast asleep.

He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to bother Combeferre, glad that he at least wasn’t alone anymore. Enjolras really wasn’t used to being all by himself anymore, he’d just got so used to Grantaire being with him all day long, it was strange not to have him sleeping next to him.

Combeferre sighed contently when he’d settled into bed and started to snore only a few minutes later.

Enjolras cracked an eye open, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, staring at Combeferre, then at the ceiling, then at the patch of light on the floor that was only visible because neither of them had thought of drawing the curtains.

He tried to will himself to go to sleep, to stop thinking, because it wasn’t like he was able to form a single coherent thought anyway, his mind was just jumping from one thing to another.

He might have fallen asleep at some point, he wasn’t even sure, he was just dimly aware of the room starting to get lighter. At least now he didn’t have to stay in bed anymore, people wouldn’t think it was weird for him to wander around the house now that it was morning.

Enjolras got up slowly, careful not to wake Combeferre, pulled his jeans back on and wandered down the hallway, only to turn back around when he’d reached the staircase. He slipped inside Grantaire’s room without a second thought, saw him curled up on his bed, halfway hidden under a pile of blankets.

He wanted to lie down next to him, but he felt it would be presumptuous, so he sat down in the window seat, his bare feet tucked under a pillow.

The grounds outside were bathed in the light of the slowly rising sun, everything was still, nothing moved in the shadows. It was almost peaceful – nothing there to indicate that their whole lives had fallen apart, that they had nothing left, nothing at all.

Although that wasn’t quite true.

Enjolras looked back at Grantaire, surprised when he found that he’d turned over and was looking at him with a curious expression. “Fancy seeing you here,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras was hoping that it was still dark enough for Grantaire not to see how red his face was right now. He shouldn’t have snuck in here just like that. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep and I was going to go downstairs, but then… I don’t know, I’m really sorry.”

“I’m glad you came,” Grantaire said, sitting up slowly.

“You are?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire smirked and walked over to him, sitting down next to him, gently pushing his legs apart so he could settle between them and lie down with his head pillowed on Enjolras’ chest. “I am. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Enjolras hummed and wrapped his arms around him and finally, finally closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, it's not my finest work, but I didn't want to keep you waiting even longer.


	14. Chapter 14

Grantaire woke up with Enjolras still holding him, though not as tightly as earlier. He shifted slightly to get more comfortable, nuzzling at Enjolras’ neck. He was pretty sure he’d only slept for about half an hour, because even though Enjolras had fallen asleep minutes after Grantaire had joined him on the window seat, Grantaire still hadn’t managed to get his mind to shut up.

Now Enjolras stirred as well and sloppily kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “Good morning.”

Grantaire yawned in reply. “You wanna go to bed?” he asked lowly. He definitely wouldn’t mind curling up in bed with Enjolras for a few more hours.

Enjolras huffed out a laugh. “I promised Feuilly I’d help him organise our supplies today.”

So much for going back to bed. But it wasn’t like Grantaire had nothing to do either. “Hm, I promised Bahorel I’d help him with the firewood.”

Enjolras remained silent and completely still, one hand resting on the small of Grantaire’s back, the other one buried in his curls.

It was one of those quiet moments they’d so often shared before they’d set out again in the morning, sometimes it had just been a quick press of hands, sometimes a kiss, no matter what, it had always reminded Grantaire that he was not alone. He had to admit that he would have missed this. He would have missed Enjolras’ bickering and his much too rare smiles.

“Thanks for coming,” Grantaire muttered, his eyes fluttering shut again.

“No, don’t fall asleep again, we have to get up,” Enjolras said, shaking him gently. “Come on, sit up.”

Grantaire did, letting out a pained groan, but grinning at Enjolras. “At least we don’t have to skip breakfast.” Cosette made great scrambled eggs, although they really didn’t have enough chickens to provide eggs for all of them on a regular basis, but it definitely was a nice change from all the canned food.

Enjolras nodded, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him a little closer. “Can we talk? Later, after dinner?”

“Sure,” Grantaire said warily. This couldn’t be good. “What do you want to talk about?”

“A lot of things,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire would have loved to ask him to elaborate, because if Enjolras didn’t tell him what this was all about, he’d spend all day feeling vaguely anxious and uncertain, making up all kinds of scenarios of how their talk could possibly go, but there was a knock on his door, interrupting them.

“Grantaire, I’m gonna start on the wood in ten, you up?” Bahorel asked, thankfully not just barging in.  

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second,” Grantaire called. He looked back at Enjolras. “I guess I’ll see you later?”

Enjolras nodded. “I’ll come find you.”

“Are you gonna come sneaking into my room again?” Grantaire asked jokingly.

Enjolras’ expression remained completely serious. “If you want me to,” he replied.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras smirked. “Then I will.”

Grantaire couldn’t stop himself from grinning broadly as he stood up, hoping the day would go by quickly.

* * *

Enjolras spent all morning accumulating all their supplies in the kitchen, sorting them as Feuilly brought it all in. It wasn’t just food. There were batteries, flashlights, ammunition, maps, rope, all kinds of tools, a couple of first aid kits, some medicine. It was a good thing that the kitchen was massive and most cupboards were empty.  

They put some of it into backpacks, just in case they needed to leave in a hurry, some of it went into the cupboards, some of it into the pantry. They took a quick lunch break and Enjolras tried to find Grantaire, but Bossuet, who was helping Musichetta do some laundry out back, told him that he’d gone into the woods with Bahorel.

Enjolras wandered back inside, briefly passing by the library, where Combeferre and Joly were brooding over a table littered with books.

Combeferre quickly excused himself and tugged Enjolras with him. “You got up early this morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Enjolras mumbled.

“Should I be worried?” Combeferre asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Enjolras shook his head. There was definitely no reason for Combeferre to worry about him at all. “I went to see Grantaire,” he said quietly.

“I see,” Combeferre muttered, his lips twitching. “Courfeyrac has always had a sixth sense when it came to those kinds of things.”

“What do you mean?”

Combeferre squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “You and Grantaire. I mean, it’s obvious that you mean a lot to him. And he means a lot to you, too, doesn’t he?”

Enjolras was pretty sure that his cheeks instantly turned bright red. He stared down at his feet, nodding curtly. “He does.”

“Don’t lose him,” Combeferre said.

“I’m trying not to.”

Combeferre nodded and went back to his books, Enjolras joined Feuilly in the kitchen, trying not to look out the window every five minutes to see if Grantaire was coming back. He was nervous, more than he’d ever been before. There were a lot of things he wanted, needed, to say to Grantaire, he just had no idea how.

It was another two hours later until Enjolras saw him trudging back towards the house with Bahorel beside him. He couldn’t quite make them out, but it did look to him like they were both covered in blood. Enjolras’ heart skipped a beat, even though they were fine, obviously, but something must have happened.

“Something’s wrong,” Enjolras mumbled, leaning closer to the window, so he could see better.

Feuilly joined him by the window. “Guess they ran into a couple of zombies. Looks like they’re not hurt, though.”

Enjolras nodded, but he still wanted to make sure Grantaire was fine.

Feuilly seemed to have noticed his uneasy, because he gently pushed him towards the door. “Well, we’re done for today, I guess. I’ll take care of the rest tomorrow. You should go see if they need anything..

“I can help you tomorrow,” Enjolras called over his shoulder, already halfway on his way outside.

“I’d rather you took a couple of people and went on a walk around the grounds to see if everything’s okay out there. You know, the fences and everything,” Feuilly said as he walked him to the backdoor.

Enjolras stopped in his tracks and nodded. “Sure, I can do that.” He wasn’t quite sure if he was qualified for that kind of task, but he’d at least manage to spot holes in the fence, so maybe he wouldn’t do too badly.

“Great, I’ll see you later.” Feuilly patted him on the back and left down the hallway.

Enjolras went outside, waiting for Grantaire and Bahorel to approach, tapping his foot restlessly, resisting the urge to run towards them. Still, when they were close enough, he started walking towards them. Slowly.

“What the hell happened to you?” he asked when he’d reached them. It had been directed at both of them, but he was looking solely at Grantaire. His shirt was drenched in blood, there were splatters on his face and on his jeans, which were also covered in dirt.

“I’m fine,” Grantaire said immediately, “it’s not my blood, okay? Calm down.”

“I am calm,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“Yeah, you look real calm,” Bahorel said and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, your boy’s fine.”

Grantaire grinned, shaking his head when Bahorel wandered off. “He’s right, I’m fine. Look, I’ll just wash this off real quick,” he said, tugging at his shirt, “then we can… talk or whatever.”

He turned around to leave, but Enjolras caught him by the wrist. “I’ll come with you.”

Grantaire’s grin grew even wider. “All the better.”

“I’ll get us towels,” Enjolras mumbled. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Enjolras fetched two towels and grabbed a dagger on the way out, just in case, and they walked back towards the woods together, Grantaire still carrying his rapier. It was still warm, but there was a light breeze, ruffling Grantaire’s curls in the places they weren’t plastered to his skin, sticky with sweat and blood.

“So, what happened?” Enjolras asked, reaching for Grantaire’s hand after debating whether it was the right thing to do for an embarrassingly long time.

Grantaire didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. “Just a couple of zombies in the woods,” he said lightly. “Bahorel was done with them pretty quickly, that guy can fight, let me tell you.” Grantaire laughed quietly. “I wasn’t mad that he only left one of them for me, but as you can see that one made quite a mess.”

The soon reached the stream, since it wasn’t too far into the woods, and Grantaire unceremoniously started stripping off his clothes and plunged into the water, splashing water all over Enjolras in the process. Enjolras laughed and quickly took off his clothes as well, joining Grantaire in the water.

It was cold, much colder than he’d expected, and he let out an involuntary squeal. Goosebumps rose all over his body and he shivered, which was when Grantaire came a little closer, his arms locking around him from behind. Enjolras shivered again, leaning into Grantaire’s touch.

“Talk,” Grantaire mumbled and planted a kiss between his shoulder blades.

Enjolras sighed and closed his eyes. How was he supposed to concentrate on talking when Grantaire’s thumbs were slowly rubbing over his hipbones and when he was still peppering kisses across his back? “Now?”

“Now’s a good a time as any,” Grantaire mumbled, nipping at his skin.

Enjolras let out a low whine. Right, he could do this, he could talk to Grantaire. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said slowly.

“Well, lucky for you I’m still here,” Grantaire muttered against his skin.

“No, I mean… ever. I want you to stay with me.”

“I _am_ staying with you.”

“I want to sleep next to you at night,” Enjolras added.

“Okay,” Grantaire whispered.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Okay,” Grantaire said again, loosening his grip so Enjolras could turn around. “Right now?”

Enjolras nodded and kissed him languidly, then moved down his neck, catching stray drops of water with his tongue. “You’re important to me.” Yes, he definitely had to add that, he needed Grantaire to know, he needed him to understand.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, chewing on his lip, “please don’t do that, you don’t have to say that, I’m not… I shouldn’t be.”

“But you are,” Enjolras insisted. It had been hard enough to say it out loud, he didn’t need Grantaire to make this difficult for him. “You are.” He rubbed at a splotch of blood at Grantaire’s temple.

Grantaire bit his lip, quickly glancing up at Enjolras before he buried his face against his chest.

Enjolras didn’t know what to say anymore, he wasn’t good with words when it came to talking about his feelings, so he just pulled him as close as he possibly could, Grantaire’s body pleasantly warm against his.

Grantaire didn’t move for a long while, making a content little noises when Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair. He was quite obviously completely exhausted and Enjolras should probably make sure he got him back to the house before he fell asleep here and now. “Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

Grantaire hummed in agreement and moved to wash off the rest of the blood. Enjolras waded back to the water’s edge, dried himself off and slipped back into his clothes, waiting patiently for Grantaire to join him.

* * *

Grantaire was glad that Enjolras was with him, because he really wasn’t alert enough to watch out for anything or anyone that might come to kill him. He was still clutching his rapier on the way back, his stained clothes bundled up in his arms, but he really was only focused on staying awake. Enjolras was walking right next to him, looking around warily.

Grantaire was simply too tired to keep his head up, too worn out by nights spent awake, by a long day of chopping wood and cutting down trees. The hot weather had done the rest and had left him completely exhausted.

It was pleasantly cool back in the house, everyone was slowly returning from their tasks for the day – he could hear Joly’s laughter in the study and Bahorel joining in. Grantaire would have loved to join them, laugh with them, have a drink or two, have Enjolras sitting next to him, hold his hand maybe.

But he was pretty much ready to fall asleep right where he stood, so he walked past the study, and right up to his room, Enjolras following at his heels.

He shucked off the towel he’d wrapped around his hips and crawled straight into bed, not bothering with trying to find clean underwear – if he still had any left – and just curled up on his side, not caring that his hair was still wet and was soaking his pillow, humming gratefully when Enjolras wrapped a blanket around him.

“I’ll get us something to eat, okay?” Enjolras said, squeezing his shoulder before he left.

Grantaire was already half-asleep when he returned. He could hear him shuffling about the room, then the mattress dipped and there was a warm hand on his back, slowly rubbing circles. Grantaire sighed, wanted to ask Enjolras to lie down with him, but technically it was too early to sleep. Knowing Enjolras was here with him was enough for now.

He soon drifted off to sleep, haunted by dreams of creatures lurking in the shadows of a dark forest, slowly closing in, grasping for him, for Enjolras. He startled awake with a gasp, blinking rapidly, looking around and finding that he was still in his room. Everything was quiet, Enjolras was right there next to him. They were both just fine.

Grantaire wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was dark, his room only dimly illuminated by the light of the moon shining in through the window. He sat up, his eyes on Enjolras, who was lying on his stomach with his face buried in the crook of his elbow. He was still fast asleep, breathing quietly, his blond curls spilling all over his pillow. Grantaire watched him for a while until his own heartbeat had slowed down and he felt like he could breathe again.

When he slipped out of bed, Enjolras mumbled something in his sleep, his brow creasing, so Grantaire quickly leaned over to plant a kiss on his temple. He’d be right back.

He disregarded the food Enjolras had left for him on his bedside table and wandered over to the large wooden desk at the other side of the room, sifting through drawers as quietly as he could, finding a pen and a notepad, which he took back over to the bed. He lit a small candle and sat back down on the bed, pulling the sheets around him as best as he could without tugging them away from Enjolras, then he picked up the notepad and the pen and began to draw.


	15. Chapter 15

When Enjolras woke up, he found Grantaire still lying next to him, blue eyes staring back at him. “Good morning,” he whispered, reaching out to pull Grantaire a little closer.

Grantaire came willingly, tucking his head under Enjolras chin.

“Did you sleep well?” Enjolras asked and wrapping an arm around him, trailing his fingers up and down his spine.

Grantaire hummed. “Well enough.”

“When did you wake up?”

“Couple of hours ago.”

Enjolras frowned. It was still early in the morning, so Grantaire must have woken up sometime in the middle of the night. “And you couldn’t go back to sleep?”

“Nah, I found something to do, don’t worry,” Grantaire mumbled and kissed his neck.

“Did you watch me sleep?” Enjolras asked, only half-jokingly.

“Sort of,” Grantaire said. Enjolras could feel him smiling against his skin.

Enjolras sighed. “I didn’t drool, did I?”

Grantaire laughed. “No, you didn’t. You looked pretty cute.” He gently nipped at his collarbone. “Bedside table,” he whispered.

Enjolras looked up and found a notepad lying on the bedside table. He took it and saw that there was a drawing of him, yes, it was definitely him, in astounding detail. He was fast asleep and thankfully really not drooling. “You drew this?”

“I did,” Grantaire said. He hooked a leg around Enjolras, causing their hips to rock together.

Enjolras bit back a gasp. “It’s really good,” he choked out.

“It’s nothing special,” Grantaire muttered and rocked his hips again, more purposefully this time.

“I like it,” Enjolras whispered, dropping the drawing back on the bedside table. He rolled on top of Grantaire, straddling his hips. Grantaire was still completely naked, his cock half-hard already. Enjolras grinned down at him, stroking him slowly. “I guess we still have some time left before we have to get going.”

“I don’t even know what exactly I’ll be doing today,” Grantaire muttered, his hands wandering up Enjolras’ thighs to his hips, fingers sneaking along the waistband of Enjolras’ boxers. “I think I have the midnight shift, though,” he said, followed by a low moan when Enjolras tightened his grip and sped up his strokes.

“You do. I have the one before you,” Enjolras said conversationally. “Want to keep me company?”

“If you keep me company afterwards,” Grantaire replied, tugging at the waistband of Enjolras’ boxers with purpose now. “You want to take those off?”

Enjolras laughed and lazily rolled his hips. “Maybe later. Or are we in a hurry?”

“Hm, I don’t think so,” Grantaire muttered, shivering when Enjolras leaned down to pepper his chest with kisses.

Enjolras kept at it for a while, randomly pressing kisses to Grantaire’s body, leaving bruises here and there, taking in Grantaire’s quiet sighs and soft moans, savouring each and every one of them. He ended his ministrations with one last kiss on Grantaire’s nose, then he rolled off of him again, one leg still hooked around Grantaire’s and his hand resting on his chest.

“And now you’re just stopping?” Grantaire mumbled, turning to lie on his side so he was facing Enjolras. “It started out so promising.”

“Promising, huh?” Enjolras said, inching a little closer.

Grantaire followed his example until they were pressed flush against each other. “Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Enjolras quickly wriggled out of his boxers and leaned in to kiss Grantaire, who grinned and wrapped his fingers around Enjolras’ cock. “See, that’s better.”

Enjolras moaned an affirmative, sucking in a deep breath when Grantaire started stroking him slowly, rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick, then he let go, his hand moving to Enjolras’ ass to pull him against him.

Enjolras whined when his cock slid against Grantaire’s. He could only hope that the walls were as thick as they looked.

Grantaire’s fingers tangled in his curls, tugging hard, and Enjolras groaned, torn between asking him to stop and begging him to do it again. Grantaire made the decision for him and tugged again, not quite as hard this time, and now it was just right.

Enjolras started rocking his hips again and leaned in to kiss Grantaire, grinding against him slowly all the while, Grantaire meeting him halfway every time, gently sucking at his lower lip, followed by a scrape of teeth. Enjolras shivered and pressed closer, reaching between them to take both of their dicks in hand, since Grantaire’s hands were otherwise preoccupied, still buried in his hair, tilting his head back so he could suck bruises into the skin of Enjolras’ neck.

Grantaire pulled at his hair one more time and Enjolras came with a low whimper, muffled by Grantaire’s lips on his. Enjolras stroked Grantaire through his orgasm, then he stilled, sighing contently, and pressed a couple of lazy kisses to Grantaire’s lips, his cheeks, his jaw, anywhere he could reach.

“We should do this every morning,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras hummed, torn between wanting to move to find something to clean them up with and wanting to hold Grantaire for a little while longer.

He’d never particularly fancied the idea of waking up next to someone in the morning. He didn’t like the forced conversations and the awkwardness that ultimately resulted in spending the night with a stranger and having him wake up in your bed, in your room.

But Grantaire wasn’t a stranger. He wouldn’t mind finding Grantaire curled up next to him in the morning, he wouldn’t mind him nuzzling into his favourite pillow, he wouldn’t mind him seeing the photos he had pinned to his wall, his bookshelf, the general mess his room was ninety percent of the time. He would have given anything for him to see it, for them to have met under different circumstances, even though Grantaire insisted that they wouldn’t have got along.

Enjolras was sure that Grantaire would have grown on him eventually; he really couldn’t see how he wouldn’t have.

Grantaire sighed and nosed along the line of his neck. “Hand me your boxers?”

“Really, you want me to sacrifice my boxers?”

“I’ll steal you new ones,” Grantaire mumbled and moved to get up, fishing Enjolras’ boxers off the floor. “Yeah, I’m definitely gonna go back to the river.”

“Mind if I join you?” Enjolras asked, climbing out of bed as well.

Grantaire grinned. “Not at all.”

* * *

“Did you and Joly figure something out? About the virus or anything?” Courfeyrac asked curiously. He was sitting on one of the stuffy sofas in the library, Jehan fast asleep in his arms.

They’d come downstairs to have breakfast and had found Combeferre brooding over books in the library later on. Courfeyrac had deemed it wiser to wait until Combeferre was done with whatever he was reading and had sat down with Jehan, who’d soon fallen asleep cradled against his chest.

Combeferre had come over to them eventually, not looking all too happy. “Not really. We don’t have the equipment we’d need to do experiments, we wouldn’t even know where to start, to be honest. Joly said he didn’t have access to all of their results, so he basically only knows half of the story. I’m sure that they might have been able to develop a vaccine somewhere, though. If they managed to contain the virus.”

“Right,” Courfeyrac mumbled. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that all of Europe might be overrun with zombies. Maybe the whole world. “We might have nowhere to go.”

“Well, as of a couple of weeks ago, most countries to the east were doing fine. Let’s just hope that hasn’t changed.”

“So we’re still going east.”

“That’s the plan. We can’t spend the winter here. We don’t have enough supplies, and we probably wouldn’t be able to keep the place warm.”

Courfeyrac nodded. “When are we leaving?”

“Not for a while. We’re not far from the border, but we have to make sure we have enough supplies for everyone and we have to take into account that something might slow us down.” Combeferre looked down at Jehan. “Who’s he doing?”

“He’s fine. His ankle is much better.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Combeferre smiled. “You two seem to be enjoying each other’s company.”

Courfeyrac tried not to smile too broadly, although he was sure that Combeferre knew exactly what was going on. “You and Enjolras aren’t too lonely without me, are you?”

“Enjolras has been spending a lot of time with Grantaire,” Combeferre said, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’ve been spending a lot of time reading.”

Courfeyrac bit his lip. Although he knew that Combeferre did like spending time on his own, and that he probably didn’t mind him spending so much time with Jehan, Courfeyrac hadn’t meant to, well, neglect him like this.

“It’s fine, Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said as if he’d read his mind. “Don’t worry about me. Enjolras asked if you two wanted to accompany him this afternoon, they’re going to check the fences.”

“Yeah, sure, we’ll help.” They hadn’t done much except for taking the afternoon shift on the balcony, so Courfeyrac was actually glad that he finally had something else to do.

He nudged Jehan to wake him up and got a glare in return. “Enjolras needs our help,” Courfeyrac said and leaned down to kiss Jehan’s nose. “Are you up for a romantic walk through the woods?”

Jehan grinned. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Enjolras was starting to grow tired, but at least they were nearly done walking around the property. They’d patched up a few holes in the fence here and there and had found the stretch of land in the woods where the fence had been torn down completely years and years ago.

No one had ever bothered to fix it, it was clearly too much for one person to do, and Feuilly had told him that Marius’ grandfather had never bothered to have it repaired. Now it was where zombies kept getting in, not many, of course, but enough to pose a constant threat.

Enjolras was glad that Jehan was with them. He’d killed three zombies already, his sword was now dripping with blood. Courfeyrac had wrapped a protective arm around him every time he’d got rid of one, and Enjolras had noticed that he too was inclined to reach for Grantaire, just to make sure that he was safe.

He looked around, spotting Grantaire trailing behind them, his rapier at the ready, smiling when he caught Enjolras staring at him. Enjolras waited until he’d caught up with him and took his hand.

They kept on walking, Grantaire squinting at the woods surrounding them, Enjolras checking the fence. It wasn’t long until they made it back to the gate, which was where Grantaire stopped in his tracks.

Courfeyrac and Jehan had continued onwards and were walking down the driveway towards the house, Enjolras frowned at Grantaire, who was staring into the distance.

Enjolras tugged at his hand. He was eager to get back, not only because it had been an incredibly long day, but also because it was unbearably hot and he couldn’t wait to get back inside the house. “What?” he asked lowly.

“Nothing…” Grantaire shook his head, still not looking at him, his eyes fixed at something in the woods. “I just thought I saw something, but there’s nothing there.”

Enjolras frowned. He couldn’t see anything either.

“Let’s go back,” Grantaire muttered, turning around just as something rustled between the bushes at the edge of the driveway. He let go of Enjolras’ hand. “Stay here.”

“No, Grantaire, I’ll-”

“You only have that dagger, just stay here, I’ll be right back,” Grantaire said and wandered off into the underbrush, not without winking at him first.

Enjolras watched him go, feeling uneasy, his fingers curling around the hilt of his dagger. He could hear another rustle, then Grantaire bent down and Enjolras could hear him speak.

“Well, hello there.”

Enjolras frowned, tilting his head so he could see who Grantaire was talking to, but the bushes were still obscuring his view. It definitely wasn’t a zombie, that much was clear.

“Where did you come from, huh?”

No one answered.

“Ah, come on, then, you can come with me, it’s okay.”

“Grantaire, what are you doing?” Enjolras called, stepping a little closer.

“Just a second,” Grantaire called back. “Come here, yeah, that’s a good boy.” Then he emerged from where he’d been crouching, carrying a dog, grinning like he’d just found some kind of hidden treasure. “Look at this little guy.”

Yes, Enjolras was looking at the _little_ guy. He wasn’t little at all. He was a not quite fully grown golden retriever that Grantaire was now carrying in his arms.

Grantaire put the dog back down once he was back on the driveway, walking back to Enjolras, whistling, at which the dog came running after him. “Look, he’s been raised so well.”

“Grantaire we can’t keep him,” Enjolras said sternly.

Grantaire’s face fell. “What? Why not?”

“Because…” He’d been about to say that he might belong to someone, but that was highly unlikely. “What if they don’t want a dog in the house? What if he’s some kind of zombie dog and tries to eat us in the dead of the night?”

“Sure, he’s obviously a menace,” Grantaire said, eyebrows raised. He looked down at the dog, cooing at him. “You’re _so_ dangerous, aren’t you?”

The dog wagged his tail in response.

“Wow, Enjolras, he might hit you in the face with his tail. What a threat.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “What if he’s infected?”

“He doesn’t look infected to me,” Grantaire said, scratching the dog behind his ears. “Right, you’re a good boy, you’re not gonna eat us. I’m sorry, Dog, Enjolras doesn’t like you, so I’m gonna have to leave you here and some big, bad zombie guy might eat you.”

“Dog,” Enjolras repeated, suddenly reminded of Pony. “You’re calling him Dog.” He sighed. Well, they couldn’t just leave him here, Grantaire was right about that. “Fine, let’s take him back.”

* * *

He stepped back into the shadows. They’d nearly seen him. Twice.

He’d have to be more careful next time, but at least that godforsaken dog that had been following him around for most of the day had done one good deed and had distracted them long enough for him to make sure he wouldn’t be discovered.

At least following them around for the day hadn’t been a completely waste. Apparently they had a new chief – tall, blond, definitely a leader. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that piece of information as of yet, but he was sure they’d figure something out.

He watched as they walked back towards the house, laughing and joking. When they were out of sight, he turned to leave. He had a long ride ahead of him.


	16. Chapter 16

Courfeyrac and Jehan were waiting for them at the door, both of them coming running back towards them as soon as they saw them approach.

“Oh my god, where did you find him?” Courfeyrac asked, petting Dog with enthusiasm. “Or her?”

“We found him back in the woods,” Grantaire said, smirking.

“ _Grantaire_ found him,” Enjolras corrected. “He called him Dog.”

“An excellent name,” Courfeyrac said. “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”

“Oh, of course you’d be on his side.”

“On my side?” Grantaire asked and poked Enjolras in the ribs. “What are you trying to say? You suggested we take him back with us.”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have taken him if I’d told you not to,” Enjolras said lowly.

Grantaire frowned. “He would have ended up a zombie meal.”

“Guys,” Jehan said, interrupting them, “if you don’t want him, he can totally stay with me.”

“Maybe we should ask Marius first?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure Marius won’t mind.”

“Do you mind if we head back?” Enjolras grumbled, letting out a deep sight

Grantaire snorted and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Sure, let’s go.” Enjolras looked like he was about to pass out, his face red, his eyes tired. Dog followed them, tail wagging, when Grantaire whistled. Yes, they’d definitely keep him, he was precious.

They waved at Bossuet and Musichetta, who were sitting up on the balcony, keeping an eye out for zombies, and came across Joly in the entrance hall. He stared at Dog with wide eyes. “Where did you find him?” he asked, crouching down so he could pet him, cooing at him with a huge grin on his face.

“What is it with you people and dogs?” Enjolras asked lowly. “Joly, don’t you think he might be… infected or something?”

“As far as we know the virus only affects humans,” Joly said, looking down at Dog thoughtfully. “And even if he was infected, he probably would have tried to eat you by now. He looks just fine to me.”

Enjolras pursed his lips.

“Well, I guess we’re definitely keeping him, then,” Grantaire said cheerfully. “I’ll go ask Marius if it’s alright.”

He found Marius in the kitchen with Feuilly, discussing something to do with their water supply. Marius didn’t mind, and they spent half an hour digging through their food to find Dog something to eat. They all agreed that since Grantaire found him he’d also get to name him, so he stuck with Dog.

Enjolras later went up to the balcony to replace Bossuet and Musichetta and Grantaire went up with him, pulling Enjolras into his lap, kissing him on the cheek. “I think you have a sunburn,” Grantaire mumbled. They’d spent most of the day in the shade of the trees, but Enjolras, pale as he was, had red patches on his neck and on his thighs, on his nose and the tips of his ears.

Enjolras winced when Grantaire gently touched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I definitely do.”

“Here too,” Grantaire said, lightly running his fingers up Enjolras’ thigh up to the hem of his shorts. “Where did you even find these?”

“I cut off a pair of jeans,” Enjolras said matter-of-factly, tilting his head back. “You like them?”

Grantaire laughed. He hadn’t said so earlier, but Enjolras in shorts was definitely a sight to see. “I do, yeah. You should wear these all the time.”

“They’re not really zombie-proof, though.” Enjolras kept his eyes fixed on the driveway and the trees to either side of it. He hummed quietly when Grantaire put his arms around him and started kissing down his neck. They sat in silence for a while and Grantaire slowly traced the freckles on Enjolras’ arms and thighs.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras muttered.

“Hm?” Grantaire nipped at the nape of his neck. “Did you see something?”

“No,” Enjolras said, sounding a little strangled. “Can you… um, stop doing that? It’s not that I don’t like it,” he added quickly, “it’s just incredibly distracting.”

Grantaire grinned. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He let go of Enjolras and pushed him off his lap, which earned him a scowl. “I’ll get us something to eat.”

Feuilly, Bahorel and Musichetta were out in the back, cooking up some canned noodles and cutting up apples while Jehan and Courfeyrac were playing fetch with Dog. Grantaire would have loved to join them for a while, but Enjolras was waiting for him, so he only got two bowls full of food and carried them back upstairs, refraining from picking up a bottle of wine on the way.

He found Enjolras exactly where he’d left him, still watching their surroundings like a hawk. He didn’t even look up when Grantaire handed him one of the bowls, just muttered a quiet thank you.

“They don’t move that fast, you know?” Grantaire said lowly. “It’s not like they’re gonna sneak up on us, they’re not really that smart.”

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully. “Don’t you think that’s weird?”

“What?” Grantaire asked, his voice a little muffled by the food in his mouth.

“That they… well, they’re not really sentient, are they? But they still walk and they’re hungry, so they are alive, but they had to die to become what they are, so are they really alive?”

“Wow, Enjolras, that’s…” Grantaire paused, thinking. “I guess they’re dead, but something keeps them, well, not alive, but something keeps them going.”

“Do you think they know what happened to them?” Enjolras asked. “I mean, do they understand?”

“I hope they don’t,” Grantaire mumbled. He’d never thought about any of this. Of course he’d panicked in the beginning, he’d panicked a lot, but at some point he’d accepted that he’d woken up right in the middle of some kind of zombie thriller. He’d been hoping that one day he’d go to bed and when he got up in the morning everything would be back to normal. Sometimes it still seemed like it was just some really strange dream. “What do you think happened to everyone? The ones who didn’t get turned.”

“I’d like to think that they made it out of here,” Enjolras said, briefly looking over, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

“Always the optimist,” Grantaire mumbled.

Enjolras huffed. “They did evacuate a lot of people, you know.”

“I do know, they just did it way too late and who the fuck knows where they were taken, I mean, everyone was infected. What if they didn’t find a vaccine?”

“Yeah, it took them ages to take adequate measures to try to contain this. I’m sure they could have stopped all of this if they’d reacted right after the first death.”

“I guess they tried to keep it a secret in the beginning and then it just spread too rapidly,” Grantaire said. He could remember his neighbour trying to take a bite out of his arm only a few days after the first death had been reported.

Back then they’d been talking about some kind of strange illness that reduced people’s brain functions. The fact that they’d died before their brain functions had been reduced had never even been mentioned. Or that people suddenly turned into cannibals.

Once they’d started evacuating, it had already been too late for Paris. No one had set a foot inside the city and everyone who’d still been alive had left at one point or another. Well, at least they’d tried to. Grantaire could consider himself lucky that he’d made it out alive.

“Well, they should have tried harder,” Enjolras said angrily.

“Of course,” Grantaire mumbled, “but they fucked us over. If you’re surprised that no government official showed up at your doorstep, took your hand and led you out of the country you’re maybe just a tiny bit delusional.”

“That’s obviously not what I was expecting,” Enjolras said, putting his bowl down and crossing is arms over his chest. “I’m just saying that they should have made more of an effort. They obviously knew that it was dangerous, they knew it could wipe out the whole country, and what did they do? Nothing at all.”

Enjolras was right, obviously, _someone_ should have done _something_ , but it was too late now anyway. Instead of keeping nagging at Enjolras he picked up his bowl. “You barely ate anything.”

“I’m not hungry,” Enjolras said gruffly.

“So, you don’t eat when you’re pissed off, I’ll try to remember that.”

“I’m not pissed off,” Enjolras grumbled, sounding, well, incredibly pissed off.

“Is it because I called you delusional?” Grantaire asked, nudging Enjolras gently. Obviously he hadn’t meant for it to sound so harsh. He’d just been joking around. “I’m sorry, I really do admire your optimism, but-”

Enjolras huffed again.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire tried, reaching for Enjolras’ hand, which he pulled away quickly. “Come on, stop sulking, I didn’t mean it like that, okay? I was exaggerating, you know that.”

Enjolras didn’t budge, though, he only stared ahead sullenly.

Grantaire sighed, stared down at his feet, back at Enjolras, who still refused to look at him, down at his hands, up at the clear blue sky, then back at Enjolras again. He didn’t speak, didn’t know what else to say. Enjolras was probably wishing that he’d never asked Grantaire to stick around.

Grantaire had known that this would happen eventually, that Enjolras would regret asking him to stay. He slowly stood up, sighing heavily, and cast one last glance at Enjolras before he turned around.

“Where are you going?” Enjolras asked and turned around, glaring up at him. He quite obviously still was’t done sulking.

“Back inside,” Grantaire said curtly.

Enjolras’ frown deepened. “Why?”

“Because watching you pout isn’t _that_ entertaining.”

Enjolras pursed his lips and turned back around with a sigh. “Please stay.”

“You keep saying that,” Grantaire muttered and sat back down. “Finish your dinner.”

“Fine,” Enjolras whispered and picked up his bowl again.

Grantaire hadn’t been aware that people could eat passive-aggressively but Enjolras somehow managed to do it.

They fell silent once again and Grantaire watched as Enjolras kept inching closer. When he was practically right next to him, Grantaire wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Thanks for staying,” Enjolras whispered and leaned in to give him a quick kiss.

Everything was quiet, no zombies came crawling out of the woods, and soon the sun started setting and Enjolras snuggled a little closer. Grantaire went inside to get them a blanket from the pile right next to the door.

It wasn’t exactly comfortable on the wooden bench, actually it wasn’t supposed to be, it helped to stay awake, but Enjolras kept yawning and didn’t seem to be uncomfortable in the slightest.

“Sleep for a bit,” Grantaire said, shifting so Enjolras could pillow his head on his chest.

“My shift’s not over,” Enjolras protested, but went willingly when Grantaire pulled him down and wrapped the blanket back around the both of them.

“I’ll wake you up again in an hour or two.”

Enjolras hummed and closed his eyes, sighing contently when Grantaire started running his knuckles up and down his spine. It wasn’t long until he was asleep.

Combeferre came to visit them not too much later, Dog following at his heels, tail wagging when Grantaire greeted him. Combeferre sat down at Enjolras’ feet. “Are you two sharing your shifts?”

“Sort of,” Grantaire said quietly, careful not to wake up Enjolras. Although he actually would have preferred him being awake.

Grantaire hardly knew Combeferre and while he knew that he was a decent guy, caring and always thoughtful and aware of the needs of others, he was still one of Enjolras’ closest friends and Grantaire constantly felt like he was judging him.

“Everything quiet?” Combeferre asked.

“So far. Jehan killed some this afternoon, I don’t think there are a lot of them around here anymore.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Bahorel told me that they used to go on raids two or three times a week, but they haven’t had to in a long while. That group that attacked you when you came here was probably one of the last large ones in the area.”

Grantaire nodded, hoping that was true.

Combeferre smiled at him. “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For making sure Enjolras was okay. For… not leaving him, I suppose.”

“He looked out for me as much as I looked out for him,” Grantaire said. “I probably would be dead right now if he hadn’t been with me.”

“Still,” Combeferre said decidedly. “I’m glad you were with him. I’m glad you still are.” With that Combeferre stood up, scratched Dog behind the ears and bid them goodnight before Grantaire could even think of an appropriate answer.

Dog soon joined them up on the bench, curling up with his head resting on Enjolras’ legs.

Even though Enjolras still wasn’t too happy about having him there – apparently his neighbour’s dog had been downright terrifying when he’d been a child and had nearly bitten a chunk out of his calf, Enjolras’ words not his – he soon didn’t complain anymore when Grantaire let him sleep in his room.

Or maybe _their_ room. He wasn’t quite sure.

Enjolras still stayed with Combeferre every now and then, but he often slipped into Grantaire’s bed in the dead of the night, nuzzling into his hair and wrapping himself around him.

After a couple of days Enjolras even got up in the morning to let Dog outside. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered to Grantaire, planting a kiss on his forehead before he got out of bed.

Grantaire smiled, cracking an eye open to watch Enjolras and Dog walk out the door. He fell asleep again and when he when he woke up, neither Enjolras nor Dog was in the room and Enjolras’ side of the bed was cold.

He got up slowly, pulled on his clothes and walked downstairs, where he found Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta out in the back, playing with Dog.

“Where’s Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, looking around.

Courfeyrac frowned. “He’s not with you?” he asked.

“No, he went to let Dog out a while ago, he didn’t come back,” Grantaire said. He was probably with Combeferre. Or Feuilly. Nothing to worry about.

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. “He didn’t?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just marched right past Grantaire and back into the house, Jehan following on his heels.

“You guys didn’t see him at all?” Grantaire asked Joly, who only shook his head.

Cursing loudly, Grantaire ran back inside the house and found Courfeyrac talking to Feuilly, who apparently hadn’t seen Enjolras either. They moved on to the library, where they found Combeferre. Alone.

Grantaire tried not to panic, panicking wouldn’t get him anywhere, Enjolras was here, he was somewhere in the house, he wouldn’t have left all by himself, he just wouldn’t.

Cool fingers curled around his wrist. Jehan’s fingers. “Maybe he just went down to the river. Let’s just see if he’s somewhere in the house and then we can check outside, okay?”

Grantaire nodded and followed them out the library, walking down halls, looking into rooms, but Enjolras was nowhere to be found.


	17. Chapter 17

Enjolras woke up with a splitting headache. He blinked rapidly, looking around, trying to make sense of where he was and why his whole body hurt like he’d been run over by a bus.

He was in a small, dark room, probably some kind of shed. There were rays of light shining in through the cracks between the wooden boards, so it wasn’t too hard for him to get an idea of where he was. He was lying on an old mattress, there were a pillow and a ratty blanket at his feet – whoever had dumped him in here hadn’t cared much about whether or not he was comfortable. There was a plastic bucket in the opposite corner, other than that the shed was empty.

Enjolras really had no idea how he’d got here. He’d taken Dog outside in the morning, they’d been on their way back to the house, then something, no, more likely someone, had hit him over the head and everything had gone black. It must have been someone human, surely, because zombies didn’t take hostages. At least as far as he knew.

Taking a deep breath, he scrambled to his feet, only to sit right back down again when a wave of nausea rolled over him. He touched his head, not even nearly gently enough, and winced. His hand came away red with half-dried blood.

He had no idea for how long he’d been out, but Grantaire had probably noticed that he was gone. Combeferre and Courfeyrac had noticed. They were probably all looking for him. Again.

He made another attempt at standing up, leaning against the wooden wall for support, whining when a sudden pain shot through his arm. There was a bruise already forming on his upper arm, where someone must have grabbed him, hard. Enjolras took a deep breath and dragged himself over to the door, trying to open it, tried knocking, tried shouting.

Either no one heard or no one cared.

He screamed himself hoarse, he didn’t know for how long, until there was a bang against the door and a low, husky voice yelled, “Shut up, I swear I’ll come in there and gut you if you don’t stop with your whining.”

Enjolras took a step closer to the door. “What the hell do you want from me?”

“I told you to _shut up_.”

There was some mumbling, then a different voice spoke to him. “Listen, if you can keep your mouth shut, no one’s going to hurt you. We’ll trade you back to your little friends and-”

“Trade me back? What do you think you’ll get out of this?”

“None of your business.”

He was locked in some shed for whatever fucking reason – this was definitely his business. “Let me out of here.” He hoped he sounded demanding and not as scared as he felt.

One of the men outside laughed. “You’re staying right where you are, pretty boy.” Then he heard footsteps retreating and Enjolras rattled at the door, screamed and screamed, but they didn’t come back until a while later.

The door flew open, causing Enjolras to step back quickly. He blinked at the guy standing in the door, tall and burly, clad all in black, looking like he was about to rip his head off. He cornered Enjolras, grabbed his wrists and tied them together behind his back. It happened so fast, Enjolras had barely time to struggle. He tried to kick the guy with his feet, until he gave him a shove and he landed face down on the ground.

“It’s your own fault. You should’ve just kept your damn mouth shut,” he whispered as he gagged Enjolras with a dirty piece of cloth.

Enjolras whined in protest, but only got a kick in the ribs in return. He squeezed his eyes shut, tried to focus on his breathing and not on the pain, but couldn’t hold back the tears springing to his eyes. He let out a pained groan that was rewarded with another kick, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Then the door slammed shut and Enjolras was alone again, still lying on the ground, keeping very, very still.

* * *

Courfeyrac was glad that Jehan was holding him, he was glad because if he weren’t, Courfeyrac was sure he would have fallen apart completely by now.

Enjolras was nowhere to be found. He wasn’t in the house, he wasn’t outside, it was starting to get dark, none of them had any idea what to do, where else to look, no one had any idea why Enjolras would just take off without saying a word. Courfeyrac was sure he wouldn’t. “He wouldn’t just leave like this,” he said for the fifth time.

“Of course he wouldn’t,” Combeferre said quietly.

Grantaire, who sat curled up on a sofa, only made a pained noise. He blamed himself, because he’d let Enjolras go outside by himself this morning, and even though everyone had tried to assure him that it really wasn’t his fault, he still looked like he was about to burst into tears. Or kill a man. Courfeyrac wasn’t quite sure, but he could definitely understand.

He still felt like someone should hug the pour guy, but every time someone tried, Grantaire pushed them away, looking even more miserable than before.

They’d all returned to the house after searching the woods around the house, now Courfeyrac wanted to go back out again, it would be light out for another hour and Grantaire had offered to go with him, but Feuilly wouldn’t let them go and now Grantaire was probably sulking or thinking up a way to get out of the house unnoticed, so he could keep looking on his own. Courfeyrac had half a mind to help him. They couldn’t just stop now.

“There are no bodies anywhere around the house,” Bahorel said lowly, “so I’m pretty sure he’s still alive.”

“What if some zombie guy took him?” Courfeyrac asked.

“They wouldn’t,” Feuilly said. “And I’m pretty sure that someone would have heard Enjolras defend himself, right?”

“Someone took him.” Bahorel stood up, looking around the room slowly. “And I’m pretty sure I know who.”

“You think it was Montparnasse and his gang?” Feuilly asked, his eyebrows raised.

Bahorel nodded. “Who else?”

“He’s right,” Marius piped up, “there’s no one else around who could pull this off without us noticing.”

Combeferre cleared his throat noisily. “I’m sorry, but who is Montparnasse?”

“He’s set up camp a few towns over,” Bahorel grumbled.

“Not only him. There’s a whole group of people.”

Cosette nodded. “Eponine’s with them, too. I grew up with her,” she added quickly when half of the people in the room stared at her with confused expressions.

“And I assume there’s a reason they’re not with you?” Joly asked lowly.

“Plenty of reasons,” Bahorel replied, cracking his knuckles. “Guess we’re gonna pay them a visit tomorrow.”

“We don’t know if was really them,” Feuilly said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“Please,” Bahorel sneered, “who else do you think it could have been? Enjolras didn’t just vanish into thin air, he wasn’t attacked by zombies, so it’s not so unreasonable to assume it was them.”

“I’m not sure Montparnasse would just kidnap one of us.”

“He stole my favourite jacket,” Marius threw in. “And a pair of shoes.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Feuilly insisted, “it’s not like he’s never done us any real harm.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t go for the other guys, though,” Bahorel said grumpily.

“So, you think they kidnapped him?” Combeferre asked, his eyes narrowed. “For what reason?”

“Only one way to find out,” Bahorel said lightly. “I say we go over there tomorrow and ask them.”

“And if they don’t have him?” Feuilly asked. “Are you just gonna start a fight over nothing?”

Bahorel grinned and shrugged. “Well, I’ll ask them nicely. Once.”

Feuilly bestowed him with a stern glance. “Let’s all just get some rest and tomorrow morning we can discuss the best course of action.”

Bahorel snorted. “Fine, then. I’m on the balcony if you need me.”

One by one, people started retreating to their rooms, all of them quiet, glancing at them sympathetically. Grantaire stayed exactly where he was, looking completely and utterly lost, glancing from Combeferre to Courfeyrac and Jehan, who were the only ones left in the room.

Courfeyrac sighed and moved to get up. He sat down next to Grantaire, holding out his arms. He’d always been the hugger amongst them, he was good at it and he was pretty sure that Enjolras and Combeferre had grown to love his excessively long group hugs as much as they’d always denied it.

Grantaire stared at him with a wary expression, and Courfeyrac could almost see him struggling, but he eventually gave in and inched closer, burying his face in Courfeyrac’s shirt.

“It’s okay,” Courfeyrac mumbled, gently rubbing circles on his back, “we’ll find him and we’ll bring him back.”

After watching them for a while, Jehan came over to them as well and hugged Grantaire from behind, and then Combeferre joined them only a few seconds later.

Yes, they’d bring Enjolras back, Courfeyrac was sure. He’d lost him once and they’d found each other again. They could do it a second time.

* * *

Enjolras could hear thunder in the distance. He’d tried to sleep to somehow distract himself from how much he hurt all over, but couldn’t quite manage to find a comfortable position.

Earlier someone had passed the shed with a lantern in hand and Enjolras had tried to call out, his voice muffled by the gag, but they hadn’t stopped. People had been talking outside and Enjolras had picked up a couple of names, but had only heard bits and pieces of their conversations. Nothing that would give away his location or what exactly they wanted to exchange him for.

He’d been thinking about ways to get out of the shed, but he couldn’t really make sense of all of his thoughts, he was simply too exhausted. He hadn’t eaten all day, he was thirsty, and there was nothing much he could do with his hands bound together anyway.

He could only hope that his friends would find him soon. Or maybe they could strike up some kind of deal with those guys. Enjolras wasn’t quite sure if they could be trusted not to hurt him even if his friends agreed to give them whatever it was they wanted.

Enjolras sighed and tried to turn over, wincing when the rope rubbed against his wrists again. His skin was chafed raw already from when he’d crawled over to the mattress earlier, struggling against the bonds all the way.

Rain began to fall, dripping down on him through the cracks. Enjolras curled up into a ball as best as he could, waiting it out.

He really just wanted to be back in bed with Grantaire, hold him close, and tell him off for letting Dog sleep in their bedroom again when he woke up. And Grantaire would only smile at that, because he knew that Enjolras actually liked having Dog there, as annoying as it was sometimes, and he’d kiss him good morning and they’d be fine.

As fine as they could be under the given circumstances.

After the rain had let off, the door opened again. Enjolras steeled himself, was absolutely willing and prepared to fight back as best as he could, but the person who came walking into the shed was actually just a kid, who shushed him before he even got the chance to make a sound.

He closed the door behind him and sat down at Enjolras feet. “You have to be quiet,” he whispered.

Enjolras nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief when the kid undid the rope binding his hands together and removed his gag. He sat up, shaking all over, and wrapped the blanket the kid handed to him around himself. Enjolras looked at him, his dirty blond hair, his ragged clothes, wondering what he could possibly want from him.

The kid smiled and produced a shrivelled apple from his pocket. He cut it in half with a pocket knife and handed one of the halves to Enjolras. “My sister sent me,” he whispered, “we’ll help you if you help us.”

Enjolras frowned. “What-”

The kid shushed him again. “We’re going to help you get out of here. Tomorrow night. And we’re going to come with you.”

Enjolras nodded.

“You have to convince your friends to let us stay. They don’t like us, but ‘Ponine says we can’t stay here.”

Enjolras nodded again. That he could do. He could only hope that those two would know the way back to the house, because Enjolras didn’t have the slightest clue.

“Finish your apple, I have to tie you up again, they can’t know I was here,” the kid mumbled, watched as Enjolras devoured his half of the apple and then tied him down again, but kept the bonds light.

“Wait,” Enjolras whispered before the kid stood up to leave, “what’s your name?”

“My name's Gavroche.” He patted Enjolras on the head, winked, and then he was off.

Enjolras wouldn’t have minded if he’d stayed for a little while longer, just so he had some company. At least he wasn’t cold anymore, but his wrists hurt more than ever and his head felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing his skull with a sharp knife.

But he’d get out of here, tomorrow night he’d escape, then he’d be back with his friends. And he’d be back with Grantaire.


	18. Chapter 18

Grantaire spent most of the night wide awake, sitting in the window seat, staring at the grounds below, waiting for something, _anything_ , to happen.

Everything was still, Enjolras didn’t magically appear, and Grantaire couldn’t help but make up all kinds of horrific scenarios, because what if Enjolras was lost, what if he was hurt, what if he’d never see him again.

A stray tear ran down his cheek and Grantaire wiped it away without even realising. Crying wouldn’t bring Enjolras back. He looked over at Dog, who’d curled up on his bed and was fast asleep. He wished he could just relax for a little while, but he was too on edge and the only thing keeping him from getting mindlessly drunk was the possibility that they might go to that other camp in the morning to see if Enjolras was there. He definitely needed to be sober for that.

When the sun started coming up, Grantaire dug a pack of cigarettes out of his backpack and joined Feuilly on the balcony.

Feuilly wordlessly accepted a cigarette from him when he sat down next to him, made no attempt at reassuring him, just quietly reminded that him that he actually wasn’t all alone in this world, that he had friends who’d help him and who’d do everything they could to make sure that they got Enjolras back safely.

Soon he could hear people shuffling down the hall, talking quietly, and Grantaire heard snippets of their conversations – they were all worried, all not sure what was going to happen next.

Cosette took over for them on the balcony and they gathered downstairs once everyone was up, not too long after the sun had risen.

“So, what’s the plan?” Bahorel asked. “We just go over there and ask them if they kidnapped one of our guys?”

“First of all,” Feuilly said, “not all of us can go. We’re not sure if they have him, no matter how strongly we suspect that they do, we have to make sure that we don’t piss them off.”

“How about half of us go and half of us stay?” Combeferre suggested.

“You can take the car,” Marius said. “We don’t have a lot of fuel left but it should be enough to get there and back again.”

Feuilly nodded. “If Enjolras is hurt, he won’t be able to walk all the way back here.”

“We’ll need to take someone to guard the car, though,” Bahorel threw in.

“We have to be extremely careful. I’m sure that if they took him, they did it for a reason, and–”

“Feuilly?” Cosette called from upstairs. “Someone’s coming.”

Everyone fell silent immediately. It was Courfeyrac who eventually spoke up. “Who is it?” he called.

“I think it’s Montparnasse,” came the answer only seconds later.

Bahorel growled. “Give me my gun.”

“You can’t just shoot him,” Feuilly muttered, but reached for it all the same. He handed it to Bahorel, looking at him sternly. “Just scare him a little, okay?”

“A little,” Bahorel echoed.

“Seriously guys, let’s just see what he wants first.”

Feuilly went to open the door, Grantaire grabbed a dagger and followed him, peering over his shoulder. The others followed, all of them trying to get a good look at the guy who was slowly approaching the house on horseback.

He hopped off elegantly and slowly crept up the stairs, smiling. “Oh my, what an amazing welcome committee.”

“Yeah, please don’t think you’re welcome here for a second,” Bahorel grumbled.

“May I come in?”

“Sure, why don’t we go have a seat in the living room,” Feuilly said, sparing Montparnasse one more glance before he started leading the way.

Everyone else followed them in silence.

“Do you think inviting him in was a good idea?” Grantaire could hear Jehan mumble.

“Dude, it’s not like he’s a vampire,” Bossuet whispered.

“He sure as hell looks like one, though,” Courfeyrac muttered.

Well, Courfeyrac wasn’t exactly wrong. Montparnasse could only be described as handsome – tall, pale, with full red lips, generally looking like he’d just jumped out of some high fashion photoshoot. He could definitely pass as a vampire. And if zombies were a thing, well, then vampires might be, too.

When they’d all sat down, most of the faces around him wearing wary expressions, Grantaire turned his attention back to Montparnasse, who seemed to find this whole thing incredibly amusing.

“Well?” Bahorel asked, slamming his gun on the table. “What do you want?”

“Babet found something that we think belongs to you,” Montparnasse mused. “Pretty boy. Blond. Won’t shut up until you make him.”

Courfeyrac drew in a sharp breath, but Combeferre put a calming hand on his back, effectively silencing him.

“Found?” Feuilly asked, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s the word you were looking for?”

Montparnasse shrugged. “Anyway, I suppose you want him back.”

“Damn right,” Bahorel said angrily. “Where the fuck is he?”

“Oh, he’s safe with us, don’t worry. I told the guys not to be too hard on him. Now, let’s talk about what you’re going to exchange him for.”

Grantaire was pretty much ready to jump across the table and strangle that guy, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. They’d hear him out. Find out as much as they could about where they kept Enjolras. _Then_ he could strangle him.

“Exchange him?” Courfeyrac piped up, looking furious. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Oh, darling, it’s not like we have a choice here. We just want to stay alive.” Montparnasse smiled at him. “So, I know you have a car. How about you fill it up with supplies and bring them over in two days time and we’ll give you back your boy.”

 “How about you give him back right now you fucking twat,” Bahorel spat, fingers curling around his gun. “How about we keep you here and exchange _you_ for him.”

“Believe me, that would be the best way to insure that your pretty boy will never make it back to you,” Montparnasse said. “At least not alive.” He stood up, tipping an invisible hat. “I’m sure I’ll see you in two days,” he added and patted Feuilly on the shoulder. “No need to show me out, I know the way.”

They all remained silent as Montparnasse swaggered off. No one spoke until the front door fell shut with a loud bang.

“I knew it.”

“We have to get him out of there.”

“But we can’t possibly give them all our supplies.”

Grantaire didn’t know who to listen to, since everyone seemed to have started talking at the same time, and he really could only focus on one single thing. They knew where Enjolras was and he wasn’t quite sure why they weren’t on their way there to get him out already.

That guy, Montparnasse, hadn’t looked all that tough. Grantaire could take him in a fight.

And right now he really didn’t care who else might be there. Grantaire could take them too if he had to. They couldn’t just leave Enjolras with those people.

“Why aren’t we on our way to get Enjolras the fuck out of there?” Grantaire asked loudly.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “That is an excellent question.”

“We can’t just march over there right now,” Feuilly said lowly.

“No, but…” Everyone in the room immediately turned to Combeferre. “They don’t expect us today, right? They think we are going to do what they told us to do. So why don’t we get him out of there tonight?”

“Maybe we could go over there in the afternoon, find out where they keep him, then we get him out in the middle of the night,” Feuilly said and turned to Bahorel. “If they catch us, you get to fuck them up.”

Bahorel grinned. “What a fantastic plan.” He turned to Marius. “Let’s get the car ready.”

* * *

Enjolras tried to keep his eyes open as he waited for night to come. He tried to listen for footsteps outside the shack he was still in, but he could hardly focus.

A guy wearing a mask had come in early in the morning, had untied him and had given him some water. Enjolras had tried to ask him what was going on, he wanted to know if they’d talked to his friends, if they knew where he was, if they were going to get him out of here. Or if he had to rely on the kid and his sister. If they were even going to come.

Enjolras hadn’t got an answer to any of his questions. The guy in the mask hadn’t said a single word to him, and had left him, thankfully with his hands still untied.

It was already getting dark when Enjolras heard someone sneak around the shed. There were quiet footsteps, leaves rusting, the wind almost drowning out the sound of the steps. But they were there, Enjolras was sure, someone was out there.

He pulled himself into an upright position, watching the door. It didn’t open. The footsteps were gone and Enjolras was alone again.

Sinking back down onto the mattress, Enjolras let out a small sigh, keeping his eyes fixed on the door, still listening. If no one came to get him out, he’d have to figure out how to get out by himself. He knew that his chances of escaping were slim, especially since he was quite obviously dehydrated and possibly had a concussion.

To Enjolras it seemed like ages had passed when the door finally swung open and a girl came inside, quickly closing the door before she stepped closer. Enjolras could hardly make her out in the dim light of the shed.

She knelt down next to him, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “You look like crap. Can you walk?” she whispered.

Enjolras nodded, already failing at getting to his feet. The girl, ‘Ponine the kid had called her the night before, pulled him up with a huff and led him to the door. “I told them I’d take the watch, so we should have a couple of hours until they realize that I’m gone. And then it might take them even longer to realize that _you_ are gone.”

“Okay,” Enjolras grit out.

“Keep quiet and do what I say,” she instructed, then she opened the door, quickly pulled him out of the shed and dragged him around the corner before Enjolras could take a proper look at where he even was.

“’Ponine,” Enjolras heard Gavroche whisper, “Brujon just came out of the house, you better get back to your post.”

“Alright, go follow him and tell me when he’s back in the house.” She turned to Enjolras. “You stay here. Hide over there behind the trees.”

Enjolras cast one last glance at Gavroche, whose blond head was already disappearing, then ‘Ponine gave him a not-so-gentle shove and he stumbled towards the trees, where he sank down to the ground in the shade of a tree.

He leaned back, his fingernails digging into his palms in an attempt to keep himself awake. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness all night. It hadn’t been anything one could refer to as _sleep_. He sure as hell couldn’t sleep now, though, there were people out to get him, and he didn’t want to think too much about what was lurking in the forest that stretched out behind him.

He was barely done thinking that thought when something rustled behind him. Just the wind, he told himself, but then he could hear someone whisper.

“Did you see that?” It almost sounded like Grantaire. Now that was definitely wishful thinking.

“See what?”

“I thought I saw someone over there.” No, it couldn’t be him, it couldn’t be. “I’ll check it out.”

“Be careful.”

There were footsteps approaching him and Enjolras staggered to his feet again, because he was supposed to be hiding, no one should see him here because they’d take him back. He looked around and saw someone moving between the trees, approaching him slowly. “Enjolras?”

Enjolras froze, his eyes narrowed at the figure between the trees. A few more steps and Grantaire stepped out of the shadows, carrying a gun instead of his rapier, staring at him with wide eyes. “Grantaire?”

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you,” Grantaire whispered, closing the distance between them and pulling him into his arms. “We’ve been trying to find you all day.”

Enjolras only let out something between a relieved sigh and a sob and clung to Grantaire.

“It’s okay.” Grantaire tightened his grip on him. “It’s fine, I got you, come on.”

Enjolras let himself be dragged further back into the forest, where Grantaire set him down.

“Fucking hell, where did you find him?”

“He was right there.”

“What? How did he get out?”

“Where did they even keep him?”

“Shit, what if this is a trap.”

Enjolras tried to listen, tried to keep his eyes open, but he just couldn’t.

* * *

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said intently, patting Enjolras’ cheek as gently as he could. “Enjolras, look at me.”

Enjolras’ eyes fluttered open again and relief flooded through Grantaire. Enjolras looked horrible, there was dried blood on his temple, a red streak down his cheek, dark circles under his eyes, he was pale, his lips were chapped, his hair a tangled mess. And Grantaire still wasn’t done worrying about him, even now that they’d found him. They needed to get him back to the house safely, they needed to make sure he’d be alright.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said again, “where did they keep you?”

“The shed over there,” Enjolras whispered, his voice cracking. He tried to point at it, but he didn’t need to, Grantaire could see it well enough. Anger welled up in him and the only thing that kept him from punching every single person responsible from this in the face was that he knew that he needed to concentrate on Enjolras right now.

“How did you get out?” Feuilly asked, kneeling down beside Grantaire. “Did they let you out?”

Enjolras shook his head. “The girl let me out. And the kid, his name is Gavroche. They helped me, I promised they could come with us.” He moved to get up, but Grantaire pushed him down again. “Grantaire, I _promised_.”

“It’s okay,” Bahorel chimed in. “We’ll find them.” He pulled Feuilly to his feet. “We’ll go look for them. Grantaire, take Enjolras back to the car.”

Grantaire nodded and wrapped his arms around Enjolras to pull him to his feet. “It’s not far, I can carry you.”

“I can walk,” Enjolras whispered and staggered a little, so Grantaire put his arm back around him to steady him.

It was easy to find the way back to the car, even in the dying light. Grantaire had spent all afternoon and evening sneaking around the old farm house, trying to figure out where they were keeping Enjolras. If Enjolras hadn’t got out without their help, they probably wouldn’t have been able to find him.

Marius was waiting for them, one farm over, where they’d parked the car in an empty barn. Grantaire had meant to ask why they hadn’t just taken their goddamned car and got out of here ages ago, but then he’d seen how much fuel they actually had left. They could consider themselves lucky if they even made it all the way back to the house.

“You found him?” Marius asked, jumping out of the car as soon as Grantaire had tugged Enjolras inside. “Where are Feuilly and Bahorel?”

“They’re looking for someone else,” Grantaire told him. He wasn’t quite sure what was going on, all he’d got was that someone had helped Enjolras escape and that they wanted to come with them. Feuilly and Bahorel had seemed to understand who Enjolras was talking about.

“Gavroche and his sister,” Enjolras grit out, leaning heavily against Grantaire.

“Oh,” Marius said, his eyes wide.

Grantaire didn’t really have the patience for the story that was obviously behind this, so he took to making Enjolras comfortable on the backseat of the car. He wrapped a blanket around him and made sure he stayed in an upright position so they could all fit into the car once the others returned. “Marius, do we have some water?”

Marius nodded, sat back down in the driver’s seat and handed him a bottle of water. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m not sure,” Grantaire said, eyeing Enjolras. He probably had a concussion, maybe it wasn’t too bad, but someone had definitely hit him over the head. Hard. “Here, drink some water.”

Enjolras gulped down some water, then he sank back against Grantaire, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” Grantaire mumbled, slowly stroking his hair in an attempt to keep his own hands from trembling. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Let’s just hope the others get here soon,” Marius said lowly.


	19. Chapter 19

“Where the hell are they?”

“Courfeyrac,” Combeferre said lowly and squeezed his friend’s shoulder, “it’s not even dark yet. I’m sure they’ve found him by now, they just can’t get him out yet. We just have to be a little patient.”

He was nervous, too, of course he was, but he’d accepted that whatever happened tonight was out of his hands. They’d decided who’d go and who’d stay behind earlier today, all of them together. It had been an easy decision, really.

They’d decided that the best fighters amongst them should go. Bahorel and Feuilly because they knew their way around, Grantaire because they’d needed someone who knew Enjolras well, someone who could calm him down if need be, and he really was the best fighter out of the three of them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had both agreed. Eventually they’d also agreed to let Marius go with them to guard the car.

At first Cosette had wanted to go with them instead of Marius, but Feuilly had decided that the best place for her was up on the balcony, guarding the house with her bow. In the end she had backed down.

“What if something happened to them,” Courfeyrac went on, “we wouldn’t even know. What if we sit here waiting for them and they never come back.”

“You’ll just have to trust them,” Combeferre said. He wrapped an arm around Courfeyrac and pulled him close, hugging him to his chest until he could feel him relax.

“I do trust them,” Courfeyrac muttered as he pulled away, “It’s just so frustrating. I mean, things were going so well, we were going to get out of here, you know? Things were going to be fine. And now we lost Enjolras _again_.”

“We didn’t lose him, Courf,” Combeferre said sternly. “You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened.”

Courfeyrac stuck out his bottom lip and leaned back against the headboard of their bed with a sigh. “It’s not that easy.”

“I know,” Combeferre mumbled. Sometimes he caught himself thinking about where they would be, _could_ be, right now if they hadn’t got separated from Enjolras. He never dwelled on those thoughts, though, because all that they did was give him a headache.

They sat in silence for a while, but Combeferre could tell how restless Courfeyrac still was. He couldn’t stay still for long, kept fidgeting, humming, sometimes he thought Courfeyrac was about to say something, but he never did.

“We can always go to the balcony to wait,” Combeferre suggested after a while. He knew that Cosette was out there and he’d overheard Joly and Musichetta talking about joining her, because they wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.

Courfeyrac sat up immediately, nodding eagerly. He still looked absolutely miserable, but he did fight for a smile when Combeferre reached for his hand to pull him off the bed.

The balcony was incredibly crowded when they got there, it seemed that everyone in the house had decided to forego sleeping in favour of waiting. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta were sitting on the bench, all three of them huddled under the same blanket, Cosette sat perched on a chair, bow and arrow next to her, Dog curled up at her feet, and Jehan was sitting on a blanket, smiling up at them when they joined them.

Combeferre nudged Courfeyrac in Jehan’s direction and he went without a word of complaint, cuddling against Jehan, who wrapped his arms around him and kissed his forehead, mumbling something to him that made Courfeyrac’s lip twitch into a smile.

Combeferre sat down next to Joly and joined him in staring down at the driveway, watching as the sun set behind the trees.

* * *

Grantaire could tell that Marius was growing restless by the way he started drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Next he started digging through the glove compartment. He obviously didn’t quite know what to do with himself and Grantaire was tempted to offer him a cigarette.

It had been about fifteen minutes since he’d got here with Enjolras and he was sure that it’d take Bahorel and Feuilly at least another half hour to show up, maybe even longer, depending on how quickly they could get to the girl and her brother.

“I didn’t know Gavroche was still here,” Marius muttered.

Grantaire looked up, frowning. “What?”

“He’s Eponine’s brother. He’s just a kid, you know. I thought their parents might have taken him when they left.”

Grantaire only hummed thoughtfully. He really didn’t know anything about these people and if he was honest with himself, he really just wanted to get out of here. Nobody knew they were here, of course, but still, if anyone found them, they were probably screwed. Luckily they hadn’t seen a single zombie on their way over, but now it was dark and that was when they usually came crawling out of their holes. Or wherever it was they stayed during the day.

Marius fell silent then, and Grantaire shook Enjolras awake again. “Don’t sleep, okay? I want Joly and Combeferre to take a look at you first.” Grantaire didn’t know much about blows to the head, but he was pretty sure that people weren’t supposed to sleep when they had a concussion. Or at least he assumed that Enjolras had a concussion. Well, that was up to Joly or Combeferre to determine.

Enjolras groaned. “I’m just tired,” he whispered, his lips brushing against Grantaire’s neck. “Really tired.”

“And you aren’t hurt?” Grantaire asked doubtfully.

“Everything hurts,” Enjolras mumbled, his speech starting to slur. “’nd ‘m tired.”

“Just stay awake until we’re back home,” Grantaire said, keeping his arm wrapped around Enjolras.

Enjolras sighed. “’kay.”

Marius turned around to cast a worried glance at them, nearly jumping out of his seat when the barn door opened again and Bahorel and Feuilly came inside, a girl and a little boy following them. Bahorel yanked the door wide open before he ushered them into the passenger seat. Feuilly jumped in next to Grantaire, Bahorel ran around the car to jump into the boot.

“Marius, go,” Feuilly said to a stunned-looking Marius. “Don’t turn the lights on.”

Marius – at first preoccupied with staring at the two strangers, strangers to Grantaire at least – nodded and started the car, which came to life with a stutter that nearly made Grantaire’s heart stop.

“How is he?” Feuilly asked quietly, leaning around Grantaire so he could take a look at Enjolras.

“’m okay,” Enjolras whispered.

“He’s definitely not okay,” the girl, Eponine, piped up. “I’m pretty sure you’ve figured out that we were nearly out of supplies. I’d be surprised if they gave him anything to eat.”

Grantaire let out an angry huff as he glared at Eponine, who technically wasn’t at fault and had actually tried to save Enjolras, but still, he needed someone to glare at and she happened to be there.

Enjolras winced when Marius rattled right through a pothole, but Grantaire barely had time to check on him because right afterwards there was a shot and Marius nearly drove their car into the ditch. Enjolras let out another pained hiss, his fingers curling into Grantaire’s shirt.

“What the fuck,” Feuilly growled, turning around. “What the _fuck_.”

“Zombie,” Bahorel shouted, then there was another shot. “Tell Marius to stop driving like my fucking granny.”

Marius sped up, but only a little, and Grantaire was glad because they were going down a narrow path in the middle of a forest and they still didn’t have the lights on. He didn’t want to end up wrapped around a tree.

They made it to the main road eventually, Bahorel fired off two more shots, the car made a strange sort of rumbling noise, then Marius took a rather abrupt turn, at which Enjolras tried to suppress a whine that Grantaire heard anyway, then Marius turned on the lights and sped down the driveway to the house.

It was only then that Grantaire let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

* * *

Courfeyrac did his best not to get in the way of Joly and Combeferre, who were both trying to see how badly Enjolras was hurt.

They’d taken Enjolras up to their room and everyone had gathered around and now it was all a bit chaotic – everyone was asking questions, especially concerning the two kids that had walked into the house behind Bahorel, who’d been carrying Enjolras, followed by Grantaire, who’d looked completely out of it, and Feuilly and Marius, who’d been engaged in a muttered conversation.

 “Guys,” Combeferre said loudly, effectively silencing the whole room. “I need you all to leave.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, then all of them slowly started trickling out of the room, mumbling apologies. Courfeyrac noticed that Cosette gave the new girl a withering look before she told them that she’d be back up on the balcony if anyone needed her.

Combeferre frowned at Grantaire, who was stood next to the door, apparently not sure if he was allowed to stay. “Grantaire,” Combeferre said, “could you fetch me a good flashlight? It’s way too dark in here.”

Grantaire nodded and vanished, Courfeyrac took a step closer and finally got a good look at Enjolras, or at least at what was visible in the light of the candle that Joly was holding. It looked like he was sleeping, his chest rising and falling steadily.

Joly handed his candle over to Courfeyrac and tried to clean up the cut as best as he could in the low light. It didn’t look all that bad anymore now that Joly had wiped away all the dried blood.

Enjolras stirred and let out a hiss of pain, his eyes fluttering open, slowly focusing on Courfeyrac. “Courf?”

“Yeah, it’s me, it’s all good, Enjolras, you’re back home with us,” Courfeyrac said, quickly grabbing for Enjolras’ hand. “How are you feeling?”

Enjolras only let out a feeble groan when Joly dabbed at the cut again. Courfeyrac knew that Enjolras could be cranky when he was sick, tended to be difficult when people wanted to help him, and the fact that he was already trying to pull away was actually rather reassuring.

“You need to hold still,” Joly said sternly, when Enjolras flinched.

“Where’s Grantaire?” Enjolras asked, making an attempt at sitting up. “’s he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Combeferre said and gently pushed him back down. “He’ll be right back. Now hold still.”

True to Combeferre’s words, Grantaire reappeared with about five flashlights that he dumped on the bedside table, his eyes fixed on Enjolras.

“Enjolras, how does your head feel? Does it hurt?” Joly asked and picked up one of the flashlights. “Do you feel nauseous?”

“It just hurts a little,” Enjolras answered. “And I’m tired.”

“You can sleep soon, I promise,” Combeferre said and looked up. “Can you two maybe get some more water and see if there’s any soup left?”

Courfeyrac nodded, a little reluctant to leave. Grantaire didn’t seem to want to go either, since he’d just now come back, so Courfeyrac patted him on the back and told him to stay. He could take care of finding something to eat for Enjolras. Grantaire gave him a grateful nod and sat down at the end of the bed, following Combeferre’s and Joly’s every movement with his eyes.

* * *

Grantaire did his best to make sense of all the medical terms that Joly and Combeferre were throwing around, trying not to smile when Enjolras insisted that he was fine and that they could stop throwing such a fuss now, when he could barely sit upright at the same time.

Joly obviously didn’t listen to his babbling and just moved on to making sure none of his ribs were broken after Enjolras told him that one of the guys had kicked him. Grantaire didn’t miss the murderous look in Combeferre’s eyes when he said it.

“What’s the verdict?” Grantaire asked as soon as Joly turned off his flashlight.

“It’s not too bad. He has a couple of nasty bruises, maybe a mild concussion, but I’d say the worst is the dehydration and the exhaustion. He needs a good night’s sleep, a lot of water, and maybe some painkillers, but he should be just fine.”

Combeferre nodded and handed Enjolras a glass of water. “Drink this.”

Enjolras did, sitting up with an exhausted sigh. “Will you let me sleep now?”

“I’d rather you ate a little something first,” Combeferre said, glancing over at the door. “Courfeyrac is getting you some food.”

“I’ll go downstairs and see if anyone needs any help. Grantaire, do you know if the two people you brought were hurt?” Joly asked.

“Not as far as I know,” Grantaire said, “I didn’t talk to them much, though.”

“Yeah, who are they?” Combeferre asked once Joly had left. “Cosette didn’t seem too happy to see them, but she didn’t have time to explain why.”

“They helped me escape,” Enjolras said, his voice a mere croak.

Combeferre’s eyes went wide. “Oh?”

“I’ll explain later,” Grantaire said, his gaze wandering back to Enjolras, whose eyes kept drooping shut, reminding Grantaire just how tired he was himself.

He couldn’t sleep though, not yet. When he was absolutely certain that Enjolras was alright, he might be able to sleep, too.

Courfeyrac soon reappeared with a bowl of soup in hand, they made sure Enjolras ate some of it, even coaxed a smile out of him, then Combeferre made sure he was comfortable and tucked him in. Grantaire hovered next to the bed for a couple of seconds, then Combeferre straightened up and gently took him by the arm. “Go to sleep, Grantaire.”

Grantaire only shook his head.

“We’ll make sure he’s okay,” Combeferre insisted and pushed him over to the door. “If anything happens, we’ll wake you up, I promise.”

“He’s right,” Courfeyrac said. “You look dead tired, at least take a nap.” He took him by the hand and led him over to one of the armchairs in a corner of the room, pushing him down decidedly.

Grantaire watched as Courfeyrac grabbed the other armchair, pushing at it and turning it until Grantaire could rest his feet on it. Combeferre watched them, smiling, but then moved to get a pillow and a blanket for Grantaire, who only protested weakly when the two of them tucked him in as well.

“Sleep,” Courfeyrac said and ruffled his hair, waiting until Grantaire admitted defeat and closed his eyes.

Grantaire listened to Combeferre’s and Courfeyrac’s whispered conversation that followed, but that was really all it was. Just whispers. Grantaire drifted off to sleep soon enough, too tired to even open his eyes just one more time to check if Enjolras was still doing alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It looks like I'll be able to finish this fic soon, so maybe you don't even have to wait a whole week before I post the next chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

When Enjolras woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pain – the dull throbbing behind his temples, the bruises on his ribs reminding him of their existence, hurting so much worse than the first time. His mouth was dry, he was hungry, and somehow, even after sleeping for what must have been hours, he was still tired.

At least his mind wasn’t as foggy as the night before, or at least he hoped it had been the night before. The sun was up and shining in through the windows, Enjolras could tell without even opening his eyes, but there was no way of knowing whether he’d slept all night or maybe even for days.

He pried his eyes open and tried to sit up, biting back a pained groan.

For a second he thought that he was alone in the room, but then he spotted Grantaire, draped over two stuffy armchairs, his head tipped back a little, his mouth hanging open slightly.

Enjolras remembered Grantaire looking down at him with a concerned expression when he’d found him and he felt horrible for worrying him, for worrying Combeferre and Courfeyrac and everyone else in the house.

What had happened technically wasn’t his fault, he knew that, but he still should have been more careful when he’d taken Dog outside.

Enjolras contended himself with watching Grantaire for a while, trying to forget about how guilty he was feeling, until his bladder made itself known and he had to force himself to crawl out of bed to tiptoe downstairs.

He took the backstairs and didn’t encounter anyone anywhere, so he quickly made his way back up to his room before Grantaire noticed that he was gone.

Grantaire was exactly where he’d been when Enjolras had snuck out of the room, only that now he was snoring softly. Instead of going back to bed, Enjolras padded over to Grantaire and shook him awake as gently as he could.

Grantaire jolted awake anyway, blinking at him rapidly. “Jesus fuck, Enjolras, are you okay? Do you need anything?”

Enjolras shook his head, ignoring how it made his head hurt even worse. “I’m okay.”

“Shit, okay,” Grantaire muttered and took a deep breath. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.” He scrambled to his feet, reaching out, looking like he was about to pick him up and carry him back to bed for a second.

Not that Enjolras would mind Grantaire coming over to his bed with him. He held out his hand. “Come with me?”

“Do you want me to get you anything first?” Grantaire asked, tugging his clothes back into place. “Maybe something to eat?”

As much as Enjolras didn’t want Grantaire to leave, he was actually really hungry. “That would be nice.”

Grantaire grinned and kissed his forehead, carefully avoiding his injury. “Sure thing. Go on back to bed, I won’t be long.”

Enjolras waited until Grantaire had flitted out the door, then he slowly slinked back to the bed. He let out a deep sigh once he’d laid back down, glad that he didn’t have to be on his feet anymore. He was pretty sure that he’d go right back to sleep if he wasn’t waiting for Grantaire to come back.

“Here’s some stew and painkillers if you need them,” Grantaire said upon his return, handing a bowl to Enjolras before he sat down next to him, devouring his on food in no time.

Grantaire plucked the bowl from his hands as soon as he was done eating and reached over to the bedside table to hand a glass of water and the painkillers to him. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac will come see you later, they just have this big discussion going on downstairs. About the new kids.”

“Why?” Enjolras asked after he’d swallowed down the painkillers.

“They don’t trust them,” Grantaire said curtly. “And I’m honestly not sure if we should, but we can hardly send them back, right?”

“Well, they didn’t send _us_ away when we came here.”

“ _We_ didn’t run around kidnapping their friends, though.”

“But she had nothing to do with that,” Enjolras protested. “She-”

“Saved your ass, I know. They know, too. They’re not going to throw her out on the street, I promise you that. They’re just asking questions.” Grantaire took his hand, squeezing lightly. “Apparently they… have history. They’re being careful.”

Enjolras hummed thoughtfully, watching as Grantaire lifted up his hand, examining his wrists that were still chafed from when they’d been bound together. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“Not as bad as my ribs,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire bit his lip. “Well, you’re used to bruised ribs by now, aren’t you?”

Enjolras smiled at that and leaned against Grantaire’s shoulder, starting to feel a little drowsy.

“Are you alright, though?” Grantaire asked. “I mean, not physically but… do you want to talk about what happened?”

“No,” Enjolras whispered, not only because he was half-asleep already, also because he really didn’t feel like talking about it. Maybe some other time.

“Okay,” Grantaire muttered, carefully easing him back down onto the mattress. “If you do want to talk…”

“Thank you.” He reached out to tug Grantaire a little closer. “Don’t go away.”

“I won’t,” Grantaire promised and wriggled out of his jeans, letting them fall to the floor before he snuggled closer. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Enjolras hummed contently and let out a small sigh when Grantaire tugged the sheets around the both of them.

* * *

Courfeyrac was angry. Angry, because no one would listen to him and because letting Eponine and Gavroche stay with them really wasn’t that much of a big deal. From what he’d heard from her, they definitely couldn’t send them back there.

He looked over at Gavroche, who was sitting in a corner, munching away at a bag of crisps. He really shouldn’t have to be here to listen to this.

Courfeyrac stood up as quietly as he could and beckoned Gavroche to follow him, which he did without needing any further invitations. “I thought you might be getting bored in there,” Courfeyrac said once they were out in the hallway.

Gavroche nodded and produced a chocolate bar from his pocket. “You’re going to let us stay, right?”

“Sure, kid, don’t worry” Courfeyrac said and ruffled his hair. “Where did you get that?”

“Found it,” Gavroche said, held up the chocolate bar with a grin and bit off a big chunk.

“Right,” Courfeyrac said, wondering where the hell he’d _found_ it. He decided that he didn’t really care as long as the kid didn’t nick their whole chocolate supply. Which unfortunately was incredibly small. “How do you feel about dogs?”

Gravroche’s eyes lit up. “You have a dog?”

“Follow me,” Courfeyrac said with a grin, leading Gavroche down the hall to the room Dog now called his home.

What he didn’t expect was that Gavroche would let out a delight squeal and run towards the dog to hug him to his chest. “Where did you find him?” Gavroche asked.

“Wait…” Courfeyrac said, looking down at them. “What’s going on?”

“He’s my dog, he ran away a while ago,” Gavroche told him. “I thought the dead guys had got him.”

“No, he’s… just fine.” Courfeyrac watched them for a while, soon noticing that his presence basically wasn’t necessary, so he told Gavroche to go back to the dining room if he needed anything and walked up the stairs to check on Enjolras.

He opened the door, peering into the room, not really expecting to find Enjolras and Grantaire fast asleep. He’d seen Grantaire earlier when he’d come downstairs to get some food for himself and Enjolras and he’d actually looked pretty well-rested – at least under the circumstances.

Courfeyrac had barely slept all night, since Marius had come looking for someone to join him up on the balcony to keep him awake. Courfeyrac really hadn’t minded, had actually found that he and Marius got along rather well, but now he caught himself thinking about just lying down on the armchair that Grantaire had vacated in order to join Enjolras.

Courfeyrac smiled at the sight of the two of them, Grantaire curled around Enjolras’ side, his face pressed into Enjolras’ upper arm, Enjolras’ fingers loosely wrapped around Grantaire’s wrist.

He retreated slowly and as quietly as he could, not wanting to wake them up, and decided to go see how Jehan was doing. He’d volunteered to take the watch and was sitting up on the balcony all by himself, staring off into the distance, smiling when Courfeyrac sat down next to him.

“Hello,” Jehan said lowly, quickly turning his head to kiss Courfeyrac on the cheek.

“Hi,” Courfeyrac whispered as he pillowed his head on Jehan’s shoulder.

“How’s Enjolras?” Jehan asked, shifting to make sure Courfeyrac was comfortable.

“He’s asleep,” Courfeyrac replied. “Grantaire’s with him.”

“And how’s everything going downstairs?”

“Well, the way I understood it, Eponine’s family’s kinda shit and she pulled of some stuff that really wasn’t okay and Cosette isn’t her biggest fan either. I mean, we’ve basically already decided that they can stay, they’re just trying to figure out how to make it less awkward, I suppose.”

“I see,” Jehan said. “And how are you?”

Courfeyrac only made a non-committal noise. He wasn’t sure how exactly he felt, he was tired, yes, but somehow riled up as well, a little restless, but ready to collapse at the same time.

“Tired?” Jehan asked and kissed the crown of his head. “Someone’s supposed to come up and take over soon, we can go take a nap then.”

“A nap sounds fantastic,” Courfeyrac muttered. He tilted his head to nuzzle at Jehan’s neck, humming happily when Jehan’s fingers snuck into his hair, scratching lightly until Courfeyrac was practically purring.

“Why don’t you go on ahead to bed?” Jehan mumbled. “I’ll join you soon.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I can wait a little longer.”

Jehan didn’t push it, only kept giving him little kisses until Bossuet and Musichetta showed up and they were free to go to bed.

Courfeyrac let himself be led down the hall to Jehan’s room, laughing when Jehan’s arms wrapped around him again the second they were inside, fingers trailing along the waistband of his jeans. “Here, let me help you take these off.”

Courfeyrac only grinned and let Jehan have his way.

* * *

Grantaire was there when Enjolras woke up again, just as he had promised. Enjolras’ eyes fluttered open to find that he’d smushed his face into Grantaire’s thigh. Grantaire had apparently sat up at some point and was now leafing through a book, but he put it down as soon as Enjolras stirred.

Enjolras sighed and, forgetting that he was hurt for a second, tried to stretch, which had basically been the most horrible idea he’d ever had. He winced and curled in on himself with a whine. He stayed very still for a few long moments until he eventually looked up at Grantaire, who was staring down at him with a worried expression.

“Here,” Grantaire said and handed him a pill, holding on to a glass of water until Enjolras could muster the energy to move.

Enjolras emptied the whole glass and then sank back against the pillows. “What time is it?”

Grantaire shrugged. “I’m not sure, I guess it’s gonna get dark soon.” He leaned down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll get you some dinner,” he muttered, kissed him again, and then slipped out of bed.

Grantaire brought Combeferre to have dinner with them, Courfeyrac and Jehan joined them not too much later, both of them looking like they’d just stumbled out of bed, which actually wasn’t even that unlikely.

Joly came to check on him and from then on people started coming and going – for some reason Eponine and her brother didn’t show up all evening – until Grantaire fell asleep and Enjolras told them all to be quiet so they wouldn’t wake him up.

He looked down at Grantaire with a smile, his features soft in the candlelight, and Enjolras could only barely resist the urge to lean down and kiss him.

“You’re such a giant sap,” Courfeyrac muttered, shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Enjolras grumbled.

“Come on, let’s go,” Jehan said, slowly pushing Courfeyrac towards the door. “Let them sleep.” He winked at Enjolras, then he dragged Courfeyrac with him, leaving Enjolras alone with Grantaire.

Enjolras turned around to snuff out the candle, then he snuggled up to Grantaire as best as he could, making sure not to accidentally crack a rib in the process, and was asleep within the minute.

He was shaken awake sometime later by an incredibly upset Courfeyrac, who was pointing his flashlight right at them. “Guys, wake up, you need to get up, quick.”

“What…” Grantaire sat up, wrinkling his nose. “Something smells weird.”

“The library’s on fire, now _move it_ ,” Courfeyrac shouted and threw a pair of jeans at each of them.

“Fire?” Grantaire echoed as he scrambled out of bed, yanking at Enjolras’ arm to get him to move, too.

Enjolras was still a little too drowsy to understand what was going on, only blindly followed Grantaire’s instructions. He watched as Grantaire’s snatched up two backpacks from next to the bed, then he took Enjolras by the hand and followed Courfeyrac out of their room and out into the hallway.

Enjolras barely had time to look around at the end of the corridor where it wasn’t dark as usual at this time of night; there was a soft orange glow. Grantaire yanked him onwards and down the backstairs, where they caught up with Joly, Musichetta, Bossuet and Combeferre.

Marius, Cosette and Jehan were waiting for them next to garage, Eponine, Gavroche and Dog were with them as well, but Bahorel and Feuilly were nowhere to be found.

“Aren’t we going to…” Enjolras looked around at the flames licking up high on the far side of the house. He’d meant to ask if they weren’t going to try to put it out, but he could see that it wasn’t worth the effort. Even though the fire hadn’t reached the wing of the house they’d all slept in yet, the kitchen was on fire, the study was on fire, all of their supplies were probably on fire, too.

“Where are Feuilly and Bahorel?” Grantaire asked, looking around their little group with wide eyes.

“They got out, don’t worry, they should be back with us soon,” Cosette said. She was fuming, Enjolras could tell, and he was about to ask, but Grantaire beat him to it.

“What the hell happened?”

“ _Someone_ ,” Cosette said, crossing her arms over her chest, “set the library on fire. I don’t know what they threw, I didn’t see, but I suppose they broke a window and set a couple of small fires. There were two of them as far as I could see and I put five arrows in them when they rode away, but neither of them fell of their horse, so I probably didn’t hurt them too badly.” She sighed. “Anyway, at first I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, I thought they were robbing us… and then Feuilly came running up the stairs and told me that the library was on fire and that we needed to get out…” Then she trailed off, looking close to tears.

Marius pulled her into his arms, gently stroking her hair.

“Fucking hell,” Grantaire muttered under his breath. “I need a fucking drink.”

“Tell me about it,” Joly said, his eyes still fixed on the house.

Bahorel and Feuilly came running back towards them not too much later, both of them carrying multiple backpacks. Bahorel handed Grantaire his rapier and Jehan his sword. “I thought you guys might want these.”

“Did we have a plan for what we do when someone sets the house on fire?” Marius asked lowly.

“No,” Bahorel said curtly. “We didn’t have a plan for when some asshats decide to burn our fucking house to the ground.”

“I told you they wouldn’t just leave you alone for that stunt you pulled,” Eponine said quietly.

Everyone fell silent at that and Enjolras understood that that had obviously been a topic of discussion the day before. It was all terribly unfair, because they weren’t the ones at fault here, they hadn’t started this, but obviously there was nothing they could do now.

“We should move,” Feuilly said after a while. “They’re probably going to come back.”

“And where are we supposed to go?”

“One house over,” Feuilly replied decidedly. “We can’t stay there for long, but we’ll be okay there for the rest of the night.”

They didn’t encounter a single zombie on their way over, and Enjolras was glad because he really wasn’t up for a fight right now, not when his ribs hurt as much as they did. Bahorel even offered to carry him, but he declined.

Grantaire picked the lock of the front door of the mansion they reached after walking for what seemed like hours to Enjolras, when it took them maybe about twenty minutes in reality. The house was dark, a thick layer of dust had settled on the floors and the furniture and it was eerily quiet.

“Can we all have a sleepover, maybe?” Courfeyrac mumbled, throwing open a random door, shining his flashlight at what was inside. “It’s creepy in here.”

“You should have seen the guy who lived here,” Feuilly whispered. “How about we go find the living room?”

They made sure that no one would get into the living room while they were asleep, although Combeferre offered to stay awake to make sure they didn’t end up getting eaten. Enjolras was offered the biggest of the sofas, he declined, but was then forced to take it and eventually relented and lay down with his head pillowed in Grantaire’s lap.

He could hear whispered conversations, could feel Grantaire slowly stroking his hair, could see the unsettling faint orange glow outside the window far beyond the trees.  He could hear someone sniffle, more hushed words, then Grantaire spoke up all of a sudden.

“Look, I don’t want to be an ass or anything, but I’m curious…” He sighed. “Why the fuck didn’t you get out of here ages ago? I mean, you’re not that far from the border.”

It was Feuilly who answered. “In the beginning they told us to stay put, the first outbreak happened in Paris, so we did what we were told. Then the virus spread and we were told that we’d be evacuated, so we waited. They bombed the streets afterwards, there were more and more zombies, and there was just no getting through. More people joined us at the house, so we had to plan carefully. Some of them got killed, about two weeks before you showed up.”

“We’re really not too far from the border, though,” Bahorel added. “We could make it in three days. Maybe four, depending on how fast we walk, on how many zombies are left around here, and on how fast we manage to find the right route.”

They fell silent again after that and Enjolras soon drifted off to sleep again.

In the morning they were all woken up by Dog’s barking, five of them took him outside, then they sifted through the emergency backpacks Feuilly had managed to rescue from the house. They definitely didn’t have enough supplies to last them all for a couple of days, but they still had Cosette’s bow, Grantaire’s rapier, Jehan’s sword, a couple of daggers, one gun and a little ammunition, four flashlights, but only two sets of spare batteries.

They decided not to go back to the house. Bahorel said it wasn’t safe and he was probably right about that. The fire must have attracted zombies, even though they usually avoided bright lights, and whoever had started the fire was probably still around somewhere.

The better part of the day was spent walking and Enjolras did his best not to show how exhausted he was, because he didn’t want to slow them all down, but Grantaire did notice and carefully wrapped an arm around him to support him.

In the late afternoon Gavroche started to huff and puff and Courfeyrac gave him a piggyback ride until his face was red and he looked like he was about to collapse, which was when Bahorel took pity on him and took over.

They spent the following night in a small abandoned village, the next day they walked on, sharing the little food they had, before they decided to stay in an empty barn for the night.

Enjolras kept close to Grantaire that night, trading lazy kisses in the darkness, holding him tightly as they fell asleep. They were going to be fine. They were going to make it.

By the time morning rolled around most of them were in a good mood, even though they didn’t have much food left to share for breakfast and were slowly but surely running out of water.

“Gavroche, where’s Dog?” Eponine asked, looking around the barn.

Gavroche shrugged. “He’s probably still outside.”

“You just left him outside?”

Grantaire cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ll go get him, okay?” he said before Eponine could rip the kid’s head off. She certainly looked like she wanted to.

Dog, whose actual name was Hulk as Enjolras had learned, came bounding back into the barn only seconds later after Grantaire had whistled, but Grantaire didn’t return. Enjolras scrambled to his feet as well and walked outside just in time to see Grantaire go down under the weight of a zombie, letting out a bloodcurdling scream when he hit the ground. Then there was a slash, blood splashing and Grantaire pushed it off of him.

He slowly got to his feet and dropped his dagger, cursing loudly, looking down at his bloody arm with an incredulous expression.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras called, taking a few step towards him. “What happened?”

Grantaire only let out a growl and kicked at the zombie on the ground, screaming curses.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said intently, quickly closing the distance between them. “Did he…” Enjolras grabbed for Grantaire’s arm, taking in the bite marks right below his elbow, the blood trickling down his arm, his shaking hands. He felt helpless, nauseous. There was nothing he could do.

“He bit me,” Grantaire whispered. “He fucking bit me.”


	21. Chapter 21

Grantaire couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t _think_.

His ears were ringing, his heart was beating way too fast, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if he was having a panic attack or if he was really, actually dying. Because that was what must be happening. He was dying. This was it. It wasn’t how he’d imagined his life to end, but at least he’d made if further than he’d always thought he would.

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras said, his fingernails digging into his upper arm. “Listen to me.”

“Fuck,” Grantaire whispered, “fuck, fuck, _fuck_. I’m going to die, I’m going to… Enjolras, you have to… please, you have to promise me… promise you won’t let me turn into one of those _things_ , Enjolras please…”

Enjolras looked at him with wide eyes, shaking his head. “You’re not going to die.” Enjolras grabbed him even harder and Grantaire was glad because it kept him grounded, in a way. “You’re not allowed to die.”

“Maybe I should sit down,” Grantaire muttered when his head started spinning. “I feel weird, I can’t… I can’t breathe.”

Enjolras wrapped an arm around his waist and eased him down onto the grass. Enjolras was looking down at him, tears in his eyes. “Listen to me, you-”

“Are you guys alright?” Bahorel called, peeking out the door. They must have heard Grantaire’s scream. “Shit, Grantaire, what the fuck happened?”

“Get Joly,” Enjolras said before Grantaire could answer. “Quick.”

Bahorel obeyed and disappeared again. Grantaire looked back up at Enjolras. “I’m so glad I met you,” he mumbled. He wouldn’t get another chance to say it, so he might as well come out with it. “And I’m sorry about making your life harder, really, I know I can be a little shit sometimes, but I really-”

He didn’t get to finish, though – and maybe it was better this way – because Bahorel returned with Joly and Combeferre in tow, calling to someone in the barn, telling them to make sure everyone else stayed inside.  

“Tell me what happened,” Joly said, already digging through the first aid kit he’d brought.

“He bit me,” Grantaire grit out, eying his bloody arm, which only made the ringing in his ears worse.

“When?” Joly asked, frowning down at him.

“I don’t know? A minute ago, maybe two, how is that even important…”

“You’ll be fine,” Enjolras said. “Joly, there’s something you can do, right? He’s not going to turn, he can’t die.” He sounded so certain, as if his determination alone might be able to save him.

Joly remained silent for a shirt moment. “I don’t think there’s anything I can do, I’m sorry, Enjolras… I can try to stop the bleeding, the wound isn’t deep, but if he’s infected…”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not there,” Grantaire said, still fighting for each breath.

“Grantaire,” Combeferre said, kneeling down next to Joly, taking Grantaire’s hand, “take a deep breath, okay? You need to calm down.”

“I need to calm down? I’m fucking dying.”

“I don’t think you are,” Joly muttered, “you’re still way too coherent.”

“Is that your way of telling me that I’m talking too much?”

“Someone hand me a dagger,” Joly said, ignoring him. “Grantaire, tell me if this hurts,” he continued once Bahorel had handed him his dagger, and proceeded to poke him in the upper arm.

“What the fuck,” Grantaire growled, “of course it fucking hurts.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Joly mused and poked him a few more times. “They don’t feel pain, you see? If you were turning, your whole arm should feel numb by now, your brain cells should start dying off, the turning process starts immediately, but that obviously isn’t the case with you.”

Grantaire drew in a shaky breath. “Why do I feel like I can’t fucking breathe, then?”

“I think you might be having a panic attack,” Combeferre said calmly, “which is why I told you to take a deep breath.”

“So he’s not dying?” Enjolras asked, furiously wiping at his cheek. “He’ll be fine?”

“Guess he’s immune, huh?” Bahorel said, grinning. “Good on you, mate.”

“Looks that way,” Joly agreed, rummaging through his first aid kit again. “Just let me clean and bandage that bite, okay?”

Grantaire nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on his breathing. He usually knew how to deal with panic attacks, but apparently not when he thought he was dying. He didn’t complain when Joly patched him up or when Bahorel and Combeferre half-carried him back to the barn.

“Just rest for a bit, we’ll leave as soon as you feel up to it,” Bahorel said. “I’ll tell the others what happened.”

“I’m fine, we can go right now,” Grantaire protested, but Joly shook his head.

“Enjolras, make sure he rests for a bit,” Combeferre said. “If anything changes, if you start to feel numb, let us know immediately.”

Grantaire admitted defeat and settled down in the hay in the front of the barn. Enjolras joined him with a huff and let Grantaire pillow his head in his lap. Grantaire would have loved to full-on  lean on him, make sure he was all wrapped up in Enjolras, but Enjolras surely wouldn’t thank him for it with his bruises and all.

“How are you feeling?” Enjolras asked lowly.

“Like shit,” Grantaire mumbled. He closed his eyes. “My arm hurts like hell.” But he was alive, he would be alright. Who would have thought that he’d be one of those lucky bastards who were immune to fucking zombie bites. Certainly not him. Or Enjolras. “Sorry I scared you like that.”

“It’s okay,” Enjolras whispered. “You’re going to be fine.” It almost sounded like he needed to remind himself.

Grantaire sighed. He probably shouldn’t have gone out there all by himself. It would have been a shame if he’d had to leave Enjolras like this. In retrospect he was glad that he hadn’t said goodbye just yet. He might have been about to say something ridiculous like _I love you_.

When they did set out again later that day, Grantaire was, once again, really not on top of his game. He trudged onwards, his fingers intertwined with Enjolras’.

One of these days, maybe today, maybe tomorrow, they’d reach the border. It was really all Grantaire was able to think about. He couldn’t wait to finally make it out of here, but at the same time he dreaded whatever they were going to find.

What if there was nowhere left to go? There were endless possibilities. Maybe they’d keep on searching, maybe they’d give up, try to settle down again, try to _live_.

And what if there was? What if there were people there, what if they didn’t let them cross, what if they _did_ let them cross? What would happen then? He wanted to think that he’d stay with Enjolras, that they’d have a life together, that they’d be just fine in the end.

“Are you scared?” Grantaire asked after a while.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. “Of getting out of here?”

“Of what happens if we do,” Grantaire said. “ _When_ we do,” he corrected quickly.

Enjolras stopped in his tracks, squeezing his hand. “Yes, I’m scared. I’m scared that we’re the only ones left.”

Grantaire nodded. “So am I.”

“We’ll be okay either way,” Enjolras said resolutely. “I promise.” He wrapped his arms around Grantaire, holding him close. “And for the record… I’m glad I met you, too. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

Grantaire only buried his face in Enjolras’ shirt, biting his tongue, breathed in and out slowly, briefly wished they still had painkillers left, thought about asking him what was going to happen to them, but quickly decided against it, smiled when Enjolras nuzzled into his hair, then he straightened up again.

“Are you guys coming?” Courfeyrac called, making both of them jump.

“Damn it, Courf, they were having a moment,” Jehan said and elbowed him in the ribs.

Grantaire grinned and tugged Enjolras onwards, joining their group again. It wasn’t long until they came across a road, barred with cars and rubble. They made their way around, walked on and on, until there was a street sign, barely readable.

Feuilly squinted. “Five kilometres to the border?”

“Looks right to me,” Combeferre said quietly.

“We made it,” Enjolras whispered. “We really made it.”

Grantaire took his hand again. And he held on for five kilometres.

* * *

As every day during the past few days Grantaire woke up to Enjolras’ big blue eyes watching him, his lips slowly spreading into a smile when Grantaire’s eyes fluttered open. Grantaire sighed happily and inched a little closer, burying his face in Enjolras’ shirt.

The past couple of days had been a flurry of visits of doctors, answering questions, talking to helpers, talking to journalists – although Grantaire had tried to get around the latter. It was all a little too overwhelming and he was grateful for every second he got to spend away from other people. Well, except for Enjolras, who didn’t seem to feel like talking a lot either.

It was a lot to take in. All of France was gone, together with Spain and Portugal; parts of Germany, Switzerland and Italy were lost. They’d reached the border alright, but there’d been nothing there to indicate that measures had been taken to keep anyone out. Or in. They’d realised that they were passing through ghost towns soon enough, but had kept going anyway, just a little further until they’d made it to the fence, high and heavily guarded.

Crossing hadn’t been the hard part. They’d followed the fence until they’d reached a gate, there they’d been let through, taken to a room, had been told to wait there. Then the doctors had started coming, there’d been examinations, vaccinations, then they’d tried to take Bahorel and Grantaire away, at which Enjolras had got so furious that they’d eventually let off and had allowed them to stay with everyone else.

They’d been given food and water, someone had come to catch them up on what was going on, then they’d been taken to a hostel, which had been abandoned by its owners when the virus had started to spread.

The army officer who’d taken them had told them that it was mostly empty now because less and less people made it to the border these days, so it was all a little dusty, not exactly well-kept, but Grantaire had actually just been glad that he got to sleep in a bed again.

Grantaire had assumed that Enjolras would go share a room with Combeferre, but when they’d all said goodnight to each other and had started slinking off to separate rooms, Enjolras had only quickly hugged Combeferre, had whispered something to him, and had followed Grantaire. They’d stumbled into the next best empty room and had found themselves confronted with two bunk beds.

Not in the mood to check if there were any rooms with bigger beds, since it was quite unlikely anyway because this was a hostel, Grantaire pulled Enjolras down into one of the beds and passed out almost instantly.

The next morning he’d woken up with Enjolras smiling at him.

And it was strange to have showers again. To have electricity. To eat warm meals every day. And Grantaire knew that they weren’t going to stay here forever, but these people, some of them French, some of them German, were trying to figure things out for them, were trying to find their families or people who were looking for them. They’d been told that it might not take too long as it had been months since the last big wave of fugitives had arrived at the border.

Grantaire slowly inched away from Enjolras, rolling onto his back with a sigh. “How long have you been up?”

“A while,” Enjolras said, reaching out to tug at Grantaire’s shirt. “Come back over here.”

It wasn’t like Grantaire was far away from him anyway – if he moved even further backwards, he’d probably fall out of bed. And obviously he wanted to be close to Enjolras, but the closer he was to him, the more distracted he got. Grantaire obliged anyway. It was really hard not to when Enjolras was looking at him all pouty.

Enjolras wrapped his arms around him with a weary sigh. “We should get up soon.”

“Soon,” Grantaire echoed. “But definitely not in the next hour.” It was barely light out. They still had more than enough time before they needed to crawl out of bed.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said quietly, slowly running his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. “Where are we going to go?”

“Hm?” Grantaire wanted to pull away again so he could look at him, but Enjolras kept his arms locked around him and wouldn’t let him.

They’d already been told that they’d be relocated, and since there weren’t too many of them they had good chances of ending up in the same place. Obviously there were still a lot of issues – there weren’t enough houses, not enough jobs, not enough food for everybody, but apparently it wasn’t as bad as it had been all those months ago when evacuations had first started.

“I mean, they said if there’s anywhere we’d like to go they’d make an effort to find us a place to stay there,” Enjolras said slowly. “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“I’m not sure,” Grantaire mumbled. “Where are you going to go?” He was sure that Enjolras had already made up his mind.

“I thought I made it quite clear that I want to go wherever you decide to go,” Enjolras said gruffly.

Grantaire tried to pull away again, but to no avail. _That_ hadn’t been clear to him at all. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” Enjolras said and kissed the crown of his head. “I do hope that we might be able to talk this through with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, and everyone else too, since I don’t want to end up halfway across the world from them, but I do want to stay with you. If you’ll have me.”

Grantaire couldn’t help but laugh, because ever since they’d made it across the border, ever since they were safe, he’d thought that he’d soon be alone again. He had no relatives left, or at least none that were looking for him, he knew that Courfeyrac and Jehan had been talking about what they were going to do, and Marius and Cosette, and Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta – everyone, really. Enjolras had never said a word about it and Grantaire hadn’t dared to. He’d thought that he and Enjolras would eventually go separate ways. And now he wanted to stay with him. Grantaire took a deep breath. “And you’re really sure you want that?”

“I am,” Enjolras said seriously. “I didn’t come all this way with you just to leave you now. You mean so much to me, you know that, don’t you?”

Grantaire didn’t answer right away, he just tightened his arms around Enjolras. “I love you,” he whispered into Enjolras’ shirt, because he was sure that he’d never find a better time to say those words that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for so, so long.

“I love you, too,” came the answer, so simple, and so reassuring.

He wasn’t alone, and wherever they’d end up living, whatever they’d end up doing, Grantaire at least dared to hope now that they’d be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so that's it. Thank you very much for reading this, and thanks for all your kudos and comments (especially the ones I got for the last chapter, I'm sorry I didn't reply to most of them, but exams started last week and I wanted to focus on actually getting the fic done).
> 
> By the way, I have a [writing blog](http://musains.tumblr.com/) if anyone's interested.


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